Mistresses
of
Domination
Dr Jane Foxx
Cover
art by Rodzo
Copyright
2008 Jane Foxx, Strict Publishing International
Chapter One
Tortureland
When I first became fully involved in the operation of our dungeon with Cassandra, my mother and FEMDOM mentor, we had ten regular clients who came to see us at least once a week. There were other submissives who visited at irregular intervals, perhaps twice a month or so. All of them had dissimilar capacities for pain and humiliation, and each had different dungeon expectations. They all paid BIG bucks for our services. A fee of between $500 and $1000 was usual, depending on time allotted and dungeon services performed. Thus, it was necessary to treat each client as an individual, never supposing they would all react to specific FEMDOM treatments in the same manner.
In practice, I often thought of myself as a kind of therapist, psychologist, or physician. Through our treatment, our male ‘patients’ would come to suffer a specific regimen of various punishments and humiliations. Our selected dungeon activities would satisfy the desperate male longings for chastisement from a desirable, dominant female. Of course, in the final analysis, our activities all had to do with the deprivation and control of sexual fulfillment for the male clients. That was what made it so much fun for Cassandra and myself. We are both women of sadistic intent regarding members of the opposite sex.
Our submissive male clientele think of themselves as basically being inadequate. Psychologically, they all need to be growled at, humiliated, and/or abused in some manner by haughty, demanding females. In this way, they can find some justification for their very existence. Also, by our words and actions, Cassandra and I confirm a submissive male’s beliefs about himself: men are lowly and unworthy; FEMALES are majestic and totally supreme! And that is truly the way it is in our world of FEMDOM!
Cassandra kept copious, detailed records about her dungeon activities, which made joining her as a dual domina even easier. I reviewed her many detailed records of names and dates, and eventually began keeping my own.
The following report discusses a few of the typical male clients Cassandra was seeing, and the ones I began to share with her. Numbers are used to identify them instead of their real names.
Client 1 was twenty-five years old, good-looking (as males go), tall, slender, with no facial hair. He was the visual answer to most young maidens’ dreams, I suppose. Client 1 had a high-paying job as a successful salesman. In the dungeon, he wanted to be whipped and snarled at between strokes. Such personal requests are quite easy to arrange.
Cassandra usually tethered Client1 by his wrists and ankles as he stood between two vertical posts in the confines of our work area. His arms and legs would be extended and, of course, he was totally naked.
Cassandra positioned herself behind Client1 so he was unable to view her, and thus he never knew exactly what she was doing or when each particular whip stroke might be on its way. Client 1’s inventive torturess started with soft, mocking words whispered from close behind his ear. She gently fingered various parts of his body as if she was inspecting fruits or vegetables at a grocery.
I noticed Cassandra usually laughed at her various submissives with her mouth closed. This caused the mocking sounds come through her nose. To me, it always seemed as if I was hearing her snickers of sadistic satisfaction. I am certain Cassandra’s audible scorn helped in fulfilling her male client’s deepest expectations.
Eventually I was to realize that I had acquired the same female idiosyncrasy, and I realized how each snickering event could sound ultra-sinister to a restrained captive. I think listening to such taunts would be maddening or even frightful, depending, of course, upon who the male subject might be.
Before any whipping ever began, Cassandra generally whispered messages like, “I’m so very glad we’re back together again. Since you last were here, I’ve thought about you, and how wonderful it is to repeatedly thrash your disgusting ass. You want me to do it, don’t you?”
At this point, Cassandra would usually pinch a vicious wrinkle into Client 1’s posterior, and demand an answer in a sudden, ear-shattering shout, “DON’T YOU?” Delivered in this manner, the forceful words she used were was VERY effective in producing the desired results.
Two things could happen at this point: the male might begin to tremble while murmuring a nervous affirmative, and with many submissives an unmistakable erection would start forming. If the latter happened, Cassandra immediately would chastise the male client with more threatening words.
“Did I give you permission to have an erection in front of me, you filthy bastard?” She would hiss vindictively.
“No, Mistress Fux,” Client 1 would respond, being careful to use Cassandra’s preferred dungeon title.
“Did you think you were here to have sex, you silly fool?”
“No, Mistress Fux,” came the respectful reply
“Then, get that silly prick down, AT ONCE!” Cassandra would snarl.
“I - I can’t,” Client 1 would reply.
“Then, perhaps I should assist you!”
This is when the whipping would begin. Cassandra used a long, flexible crop to start. It cracked smartly against Client 1’s flesh. The properly spaced blows lasted perhaps five minutes or more. Cassandra covered his back, and upper legs with reddening welts but, of course, most of her strokes were to his ass cheeks. Client 1 would wail and flinch with each hit, while Cassandra cooed her snickering, nasal satisfaction.
Of course, Cassandra’s actions were not influencing Client 1’s erection negatively at all. Her skills at whipping only amplified the situation, and the male’s organ throbbed aimlessly in the air. But, of course, she knew this was the way it would be. This was the exact result she and Client 1 both wanted.
Cassandra might pause occasionally to walk around in front of Client 1. There, she could step up on a pedestal from slightly above his position, place her hands contemptuously on her hips, and look down directly at his anxious expression. Even to this day, Cassandra makes it a point to look DOWN at her male subjects. It is done to help create the greatest intimidating effect possible. In this manner, Cassandra is a great actress at providing humiliation and inflaming raw passions.
“You’ve been a very bad little boy!” She would smile at the male client. “It looks like ‘Mommy’ is going to have to use a bigger, nastier whip to get your full attention.”
Cassandra would take time to leisurely show Client 1 her favorite flogger. It was a heavy-handled black whip with over a dozen, eighteen-inch long, suede thongs hanging from it, and she knew how to use it expertly. There were also a few rose-tinted strands among the darker suede thongs, each one tipped with a steel pellet.
Cassandra would casually explain: “These pinkish whip strands came from some of my discarded brassiere straps or my garter belts, just so you know the pain they inflict is coming directly from my feminine things. Haha!”
“Incidentally, the tiny metal tips you’ll soon feel smacking repeatedly against your skin come from melted down zippers and buckles I’ve worn on my slacks or dresses. Or they might come from parts of discarded high-heeled shoes I’ve previously had on. Just so you know some of the pain you’ll feel is ALSO being created by my personal feminine belongings.”
Such taunting admissions are delightful news to a true male submissive. Some are in virtual ecstasy at this point. They secretly hope Cassandra will continue onward in using her abusive, mind-searing language in chastising them.
Around to the rear of Client 1, again, I remember Cassandra’s boots clicked her shapely legs into position. She took a position slightly to the side of the tethered male, standing about two feet away from him. My mentor stretched her whip arm, which let Client 1 hear the suede and the silk thongs ripple and unfurl in preparation for her whistling blows. They would be to be administered his nervous, waiting flesh.
The first, loud blast came with shocking suddenness. I could often hear Cassandra’s snickers of satisfaction coming from her nose and throat as Client 1 yelped and groaned with each subsequent stroke.
After a particular loud, energetic blow, she might intone, “Oooo, that was a GOOD one!”
The whipping went on at an unhurried pace. Cassandra would often pause to pinch Client 1’s reddened cheeks, and draw him into the correct upright position for more of her punishing strokes.
“Are you trying to move away from me?” She would hiss. “Up on your toes! Keep that silly ass right THERE, and hold it still for me!” And then the whipping began again.
Sweat would begin to form on Client 1’s body, and Cassandra would pause to smile and wipe her brow. She would move silently behind him to sit on a comfortable chair occasionally, while sipping a refreshing drink. It was almost as if she was stepping back to admire her handy-work. At these times, Cassandra would loudly admonish Client 1 to “STAND STILL! Don’t you dare move!” Then she would make him wait, so he never knew exactly if or when she would begin again.
If Client 1 did not stay still, Cassandra was quick to move to his side and reach to grip another wrinkle into his reddened posterior.
“Did you hear me say to quit moving?” She would hiss.
“Sometimes I can’t help it, Mistress Fux,” Client 1 would say.
That is when Cassandra would slap with her hand several times at Client 1’s ass, and he would wince with each hit.
“You are here to OBEY, not to offer excuses!” Cassandra would shout, and then she would reach around and hold him for over a minute in a very tight, distorted position by his genitals. Cassandra always snickered while Client 1 strained to endure. Eventually, she would release her hold, to begin with the whip all over again.
The entire session usually lasted for an hour, leaving Client 1 withered and spent but feeling he got what he needed, wanted, and deserved. Cassandra would be gloating and ecstatic afterward. She loved to apply the prolonged, passionate, whipping torment to any male.
Client 2 was a chubby kind of slob, and into politics as his profession. He was in his mid-forties, short, balding, and a complainer. No sooner was Client 2 naked and in restraints than he would begin whining. “The room is too cold.” ‘The restraints hurt my wrists.” “I don’t think I want to do this.” and so on.
Cassandra took it quietly for about one minute, and then began slapping his face with her gloved hand. The leather glove made a very loud crack when it struck. Each time Client 2 opened his mouth to speak again he got another slap.
These were NOT powder puff hits. Cassandra put a lot of female gusto behind each blow, and soon Client 2 was slumping, as he was jarred with each punishing contact.
Occasionally, Cassandra would unexpectedly slap flat-handed at Client 2’s roly-poly waistline. It would almost double him over, except that he was tethered with wrists and ankles to a large X against the wall.
Slapping Client 2’s body lasted a long while and until he was reddened noticeably from face to thighs. As his body began to sag, Cassandra would take a healthy grip on Client 2’s testicles and force him upward again.
“Come on, you fat pig!” She would growl. “Get up on those toes. Higher! Now, stay there! Steady! Steady! Just like ladies in high-heeled shoes must do. You keep that fat ass up in the air!” Then she would begin slapping again, until her grip inevitably went back to his testicles.
Over time, I noticed whomever the client, somewhere in her dungeon procedures Cassandra would eventually get to the gentleman’s testicles. She had a ‘thing’ about slapping, twisting, pinching, and squeezing down there, no matter what else was on the agenda. And, again, I realized I was acquiring the same inclinations.
Client 3 got a huge dose of humiliation from Cassandra. He was a big shot lawyer; in his 50s, Italian, very hairy, and took everything she offered, no matter how furiously she dealt with him. He had stamina, which she tested every time they met. Cassandra could always bring Client 3 to his emotional knees with her testicle tricks, of course.
The session began with Client 3 kissing her boots. This was not a ‘lick and a promise’ effort, but twenty minutes of serious licking and sucking, even to the bottoms of her black boots. Meanwhile Cassandra, as the original Mistress Fux, did her classical nose snickering almost continuously. I knew it made her hot to have any male down on his knees before her.
I saw Cassandra wave a pair of her panties in Client 3’s face on more than one occasion, and then she would say something like, “I wore these playing tennis this morning, and they were simply drenched with my sweat when I took them off. I KNOW YOU’D LOVE TO HOLD THEM IN YOUR MOUTH, WOULDN’T YOU?” Of course, Client 3 agreed. He really did not have any choice in the matter.
Cassandra stuffed the panties into Client 3’s oral opening, taped his mouth shut, and began to fiddle with his testicles. “STAND STILL!” She would shout, between more of her maddening snickers. Of course, Client 3 was unable to remain motionless, and she just about drove him batty with her wild, punishing fingers.
Every male got to kiss Cassandra’s ass cheeks as their particular session ended. Not many kisses, just one to each cheek. This was the accepted manner of thanking Cassandra for her time and services. If a male client paid Cassandra enough, he might get to kiss her curvy butt for an entire minute.
I never saw any male client lucky enough to kiss her pussy. They all wanted to, of course, and some might have, but not while I was there to see it. Cassandra’s sexual pleasures in the dungeon were derived almost exclusively from the use of her double dildo. The working end was inserted into either end of a restrained male, depending on her mood, and frequently she would shudder her way to a furious orgasm on the other end of it. Some of the male clients begged her to do it to them, but she invariably refused. It was, for the restrained male, a punishment and not a reward, and it was this that added to her pleasure. She called it, “The perfect female retribution!” I was spellbound watching her force herself on different males in the dungeon, and soon I began doing it myself with the same giddy results.
Client 4 was Cassandra’s pee loving, bank president. He often came early in the morning to catch it with his mouth directly from her cunt. She called him ‘TB’ for ‘toilet boy’, and he paid handsomely for the favor she bestowed on him, even though the entire morning session often lasted less than five minutes. If Client 4 came to see Cassandra in the evening, the session might last a great deal longer, because she laughingly dripped samples of her pee into his mouth with an eyedropper. I never saw Cassandra snicker as much as she did with ‘toilet boy’. He took all of her pee, as if it was some sort of lip-smacking ambrosia.
Client 5 was a well-known television producer. Cassandra enjoyed her weekly sessions with Client 5 the most, I think. He was into severe torture, and Cassandra felt she had no need to hold back her natural sadism.
His torturess often hung Client 5 in an inverted position for prolonged whipping, or on her full-length rotating wheel. She used every whip in her arsenal to ‘break him’. He endured it all, but not without appropriate loud groans when her whipping and taunting was at its most intense.
Client 5 was the only male submissive for whom Cassandra seemed to have any respect, which was probably because he could take so much of her vicious punishment. At times, I thought their weekly confrontations almost resembled a contentious affair. Cassandra would rub her breasts and squeeze her own nipples, while Client 5 kissed and licked at her legs and thighs. But soon she would be back to whipping him harshly, and taunting him with laughter and noisy mocking kisses in the air.
Cassandra never smoked tobacco, but I felt sure there were times she would have extinguished cigarette butts on Client 5’s skin. He would probably have taken anything she offered.
Cassandra also loved dripping hot candle wax on Client 5, especially into his undefended crotch. She inevitably concluded their sessions with the insertion of her double dildo into him, and she performed the most outrageous energetic hip movements I ever saw.
I was often considerate enough to give Cassandra and Client 5 some privacy because their activities seemed so personal. Their actions made me think Client 5 actually loved Cassandra because of all the fiendish things she did to him. Secretly, I suspected she occasionally allowed Client 5 to kiss at her crotch through her leather tights when they were at the conclusion of a particular session. She sometimes looked quite disheveled and smilingly content when she emerged alone from her dungeon, and that rarely happened with anyone else. The thin, leather crotch on her tights was evidently no barrier to tongue-induced pleasure for Cassandra.
I asked my mentor privately about Client 5, and if she ever allowed him to ‘sup at her temple’. She smiled to herself, took a sip of wine, and said to me, “He guzzles my piss, just like every other male that comes here!” Then she would smile to herself, again. I knew something extra was going on, and she loved keeping me in suspense.
When I finally got Client 5 into my solitary clutches, I spoke as if I knew what Cassandra’s secret was with him, in hopes that he would unmask their private little game.
“You know about it?” Client 5 asked a bit incredulously.
“Of course,” I lied. “Your mistress shares everything with me.”
Are you going to let me do the same with you?” He asked.
“MISTRESS FUX,” I shouted, slapping his face. “I am Mistress Fux, and if you want to get along with me, you’d better address me as such. I am in charge here at this moment!”
“Yes, Mistress Fux,” Client 5 murmured apologetically.
“Describe to me, just exactly what you expect,” I demanded.
“If I please you by enduring to the end, will you let me kiss against the crotch of your leather panties?” He begged.
So, my suspicions about Cassandra and Client 5 WERE correct. I smiled triumphantly, and said, “You will have to win my favor first! Can you do it?”
“I’ll try Mistress Fux,” Client 5 replied.
“Good!” I answered. “Then, we’ll see just how formidable you are!”
“Thank you, Mistress Fux,” he murmured.
Client 5 never was quite good enough to kiss the crotch of MY leather tights, but I must admit he made a gallant effort to please me. I put him to the test with a variety of prolonged and exquisite tortures of the C&B category. Cassandra’s favorite slave endured a great deal from me, and it was always my pleasure to have him under my control.
“Perhaps next time you’ll do better for me,” was always my parting shot at him during our finale, and then, Client 5 heard another dose of my taunting laughter.
Another submissive Cassandra loved to torment was Client 6. He was a cross dresser, or transvestite. His sessions always lasted a lot longer because he came to dress up as a woman, and that took a while. Client 6 wore it all: brassiere, panties, slip, dress, net stockings, garters, high-heeled shoes, earrings, bracelets, and a ton of make-up, including lipstick and eye shadow.
When he was finally through, Client 6 looked amazingly like a real female in that costume. He strutted around proudly for a few minutes before Cassandra came into the dungeon. She always took immediate firm control.
First, she spent a good deal of time slapping Client 6 around the room while she shrieked insults at him. He was also stretched out on her delivery table to be examined. Very quickly, she would get to his crotch. Cassandra would rip the panties off and announce in a very loud, intimidating voice, “You’re a slut! YOU WOULDN’T MAKE A PIMPLE ON A REAL LADY’S ASS!”
With client Client 6’s wrists and ankles restrained, Cassandra would sit her curvy bottom on a stool between his knees, and begin a long, withering session of CBT: cock and ball torture. It began with her putting on a large pair of horn-rimmed glasses. Cassandra really had no need them to see, but she loved the appearance that they gave her: as if she was making an ultra-close inspection of Client 6’s crotch.
Occasionally, Cassandra would look up into the face of Client 6 from over the tops of her glasses. Her gaze was cold and calculating. After an interminable pause, Cassandra would give him a faint, sadistic smile with one of the mocking snickers through her nose, and she would begin her mistreatment of his throbbing erection.
Cassandra unceremoniously applied ice packs to Client 6’s crotch, and admonished him, “Get this ugly prick DOWN, at once!” Of course, it took a while, and Client 6 groaned from the shuddering effects of the cold pressures and the accompanying agonies of ‘blue balls’.
As soon as the arduous task was completed to Cassandra’s satisfaction, she would put the ice pack aside and instruct Client 6 to, “Get it back it up!”
Cassandra assisted Client 6 with concentrated heat from a hair dryer directed into his crotch! After the entire area was totally dry, she continued Client 6’s planned torment by using a vibrator to stimulate him to another throbbing erection. Cassandra giggled all during this maddening exercise, and called it, “Erect and demolish!”
Later, she fastened over two-dozen clothespins to every possible place in Client 6’s crotch, squeezing vital portions of his sensitive flesh in tiny, vise-like grips. The multi-colored, plastic clothespins were then fluttered and jarred with her fingers or a crop. Client 6 winced and moaned in response to her every movement. It must have been quite aggravatingly painful, but Client 6 came back every week for more of the same.
Clients 7 and 8 were actually a couple, and their routine with Cassandra varied little over several months. On a weekly basis, the male was restrained to a chair in the dungeon while his young ladylove orally serviced Cassandra, front and back. This usually took half an hour or so. All that the male got out of the session was a lot of heated frustration. Afterward, the couple would left together, reportedly to, “Go home and fuck their brains out!” The exercise caused much gloating and merriment from Cassandra. The young female obviously loved kissing, licking, and sucking on Cassandra, but watching the intimate action drove the restrained male near mad with desire.
Regular male clients, and the occasional irregulars, suffered through various combinations of the same sort of treatments already discussed. They all fit somewhere along the continuum of Cassandra’s professional motto: “Males are here to suck, serve, and suffer.”
On rare occasions, there would be an opening for someone new, and I sat in on a couple of those interviews with Cassandra and the potential client, just for the experience.
First a letter and an application with a sizable financial tribute had to be submitted to Cassandra, before she would ever consider a new candidate. Also, the words in the letter had to be of a subservient tone throughout. She had no time for the flippant or curious male, nor for anyone who thought they were going to have sex, or even a massage. She wanted genuine submissives only; males who were meek and humble in the presence of beautiful, haughty females. She wanted no pompous challenges to her supreme authority.
Cassandra would, on occasion, adjust her dungeon schedule to ‘treat’ an extemporaneous captive. These were times when her entire domina energy was focused on vengeful confrontations. She said to me, “What better place than my dungeon to deliver punishing torment to a deserving male? If some bastard ruffles my feathers, isn’t it only just that I have the grand opportunity of causing him some major memorable bother?”
Cassandra sounded at times as if she were reading from Shakespeare. But I knew what she meant, and totally agreed with her views.
One of these unforgettable sessions with an obstinate captive was begun in our dungeon during the wee hours. The male recipient of Cassandra’s wrath was a local, well-known lawyer who was nicknamed, Tricky Dick. At the courthouse, he was a spiteful, conceited ass, with typical male arrogance swirling continuously in his voice and manner. Cassandra detested him from afar. She followed his prominent career in the local newspapers and on television news programs.
Tricky Dick did not deal with Cassandra directly in the daily course of events, nor had he ever spoken to her personally, so he did not really know who she was. Dick’s crime was that he had labeled our good friend, Butternut, the town librarian, on false charges. It was something to do with county funds for her purchase of new books for the library. Butternut almost lost her job over Tricky Dick’s overly aggressive actions as a prosecuting attorney.
The episode had caused an angry debate in town circles before it was discovered Butternut was completely innocent of any wrongdoing. However, the true guilty party who had absconded with county funds was still unknown.
Yes, I am writing of Butternut, the lady librarian who was Cassandra’s long-time acquaintance, and my dear, sweet, lesbian mentor. Naturally, Cassandra and I were both furious with Tricky Dick, especially when the lawyer refused to issue a public apology. This, in Cassandra’s mind, made him an ideal candidate for a late night session of calculated retribution, and she dismissed the illegality of her plans with a contemptuous wave of her hand. She intended to have Tricky Dick captured and brought quietly to her dungeon.
Planning her moves carefully, Cassandra waited for a few weeks until public talk of the issue with Butternut had died to a simmer. Meanwhile, she hired Big Zelda, a capable friend, to trail Tricky Dick to discover and record his nightly habits. Soon she knew where he shopped, what restaurants he frequented, and the late night bar that where he often stopped before he continued home.
The liquor establishment was called, “The Paper Dolly”. It was noted Tricky Dick enjoyed hitting on attractive women there. His obvious weak spot was quickly noted.
Shortly thereafter, a gorgeous, young female code-named Lucy, was flown in from the West Coast at Cassandra’s request. Her assignment was to help to set Cassandra’s trap for snaring Tricky Dick’s balls in a tight noose, figuratively speaking. The literal part would come later.
One night at “The Paper Dolly”, Dick made his regular appearance, and it did not take long for him to start hitting on lovely Lucy. Naturally, she cooperated with his advances.
Very soon, at the lawyer’s request, they left the bar together, supposedly headed for Dick’s apartment and some lively sex. Instead, according to plan, Lucy gave Tricky Dick a drugged cocktail to induce his temporary unconsciousness.
So it was that Tricky Dick was in ‘lullaby-land’ as he reached his car in the bar’s parking lot. Big Zelda, with Lucy helping, placed the sleeping lawyer in her car and drove away from the area. Soon they were pulling into the darkened garage just outside the rear entrance to our secluded dungeon.
Tricky Dick’s sleeping body was placed on a hospital cart, and in a few more moments he was being wheeled inside to a specially prepared area in our dungeon. This is where the FEMALE of the species reigns supreme. Cassandra and I called it, “Tortureland.” We thought the name was a suitable title for this particular spot. It is where Cassandra and I stood waiting to receive our new arrival, Tricky Dick, the uncompromising, macho-mouthed lawyer.
With Big Zelda and Lucy watching, Tricky Dick was completely undressed. We were not gentle in the process. His clothes were all cut quickly away with a couple pairs of scissors. He was restrained to Cassandra’s delivery table: wrists tethered near his sides on a slave belt, legs widely separated, knees up and apart, and ankles strapped securely in the foot stirrups.
The use of a slave belt is one of Cassandra’s favorite ploys to restrain a captive. The belt fits tightly around the waist with straps to hold each wrist to the sides of the victim’s body. This allows only frustrating finger movement by the captive, very close to where much tormenting activity is soon to take place. Cassandra has taught me to concentrate my disruptive efforts in the male’s crotch area. This is where the inferior sex really lives.
To say Tricky Dick was vulnerably exposed, was a major understatement. He was totally defenseless to whatever Cassandra had to offer. What a ‘sweetheart’ position for eager Cassandra to ply her dungeon craft. Busy female fingers can be quite troubling, especially under such judicious circumstances.
As the reigning Mistress Fux, Cassandra began with strong lighting placed immediately over the delivery table. This made it impossible for Tricky Dick to see out beyond the brilliant light shining in his face when he eventually woke up.
It was then Lucy posed her lovely, naked body with Dick in several sexually explicit positions while photographs were taken. My favorite of the pictures showed Lucy’s intimate body parts hovering close and expectantly over Dick’s open mouth. The photo was a masterpiece! His easily recognizable, bulbous nose was posed almost IN her lovely pussy.
Lucy also posed for photographs as she lay beside Dick on the cart, while holding his cock in her delicate fingers. It looked, in the resulting picture, as if they were about to have a wild, sexual affair.
A few minutes later, her work done, Big Zelda drove Lucy to the airport where she would return to the West Coast. Then, with everyone else but Cassandra gone, I operated a camcorder to catch the dungeon drama as it was about to unfold. Tricky Dick would be the unknowing star of this upcoming saga.
Cassandra, dressed in a skimpy, black outfit, and loud-clicking, high-heeled boots, turned off all the other lights in the dungeon, except, those above Tricky Dick’s restrained nakedness. He looked so utterly helpless lying there.
When all was ready, the slumbering lawyer was assisted from his stupor with a vial of ammonia. In a few seconds of sporadic, nasal harassment by Cassandra, Tricky Dick finally began to wake, asking the expected standard questions of confusion concerning his whereabouts.
“Where am I? What is this? Why am I tied? Who’s there?”
Cassandra pulled her stool near to Dick’s position, just as a doctor might move closer to a reclining patient in a clinic. She listened to all of his worried questions before ever answering. In the dark above him, I knew Cassandra had a sadistic smile on her face, and I already heard some of those soft, nasal snickers that I had noted from her countless times. Tricky Dick stopped asking his questions to listen to Cassandra’s sounds.
“I know there’s someone there,” he insisted, straining to see beyond the lights. “Who is it? Where am I?” What is this?” Who’s there?”
Finally Cassandra spoke, but her voice was soft hiss, almost a whisper. “You’re so damned smart, bastard; why is it you don’t know where you are?”
“Who is that?” Dick asked, with all senses on alert.
“I’m your destiny!” Cassandra chuckled softly.
“What is this; some kind of a joke?” Tricky Dick demanded.
The answer from Cassandra was a harsh slap across Dick’s face with her gloved hand. The loud, sudden noise echoed throughout the dungeon.
“Does THAT feel like a joke, you ignorant bastard?” Cassandra growled softly.
Dick was instantly in a panic. His lips moved without noise. It was as if the brilliant lawyer was suddenly at a loss for words. How unusual for him!
“What, - what do you want from me?” Dick finally managed.
“What does your destiny want?” Cassandra sneered with contempt dripping from her hissing voice. “I want you to suffer, bastard!”
Another, even louder, slap cracked across Tricky Dick’s face. It rocked his head to the side, and bloodied his lip.
“Oh, that was a GOOD one,” Cassandra snickered.
“You have no right to do this!” Tricky Dick complained frantically, with saliva frothing from his mouth.
“Don’t I, bastard?” Cassandra hissed. “What are you going to do about it?”
Tricky Dick took another shot across his face. The lawyer’s head recoiled from the cracking slap, and Cassandra laughed in the darkness beyond him.
“You, - you can’t do this,” Dick uttered in confusion, using a commonplace phrase all males utter who find themselves in a similar helpless situations.
“It looks like I AM doing this, bastard,” Cassandra laughed again. “But maybe I should slap you in another place now. Your face looks so awfully red!”
“W-why are you doing this?” Tricky Dick panicked.
“Because you’re a bastard, bastard!” Cassandra growled, turning her attention to slap her gloved hand quickly upward into Dick’s undefended crotch.
It was a moderate hit, but caused the lawyer to quickly recoil against the straps holding him down. He also groaned as if in deep agony.
“Oh, I LIKE that!” Cassandra chuckled. “Let’s do it, again!”
Tricky Dick attempted to move his tethered hands to defend himself, but the effort was futile. His fingers could only clutch ineffectually in the air near his sides.
Cassandra’s gloved hand came swishing out of the dark, and cracked again into Tricky Dick’s crotch. The struggling lawyer groaned as before. His torturess laughed triumphantly. Then, there was a long silent pause in the dungeon. There was no sound except for Dick’s moaning.
Cassandra often hesitates at such moments of male panic. She just sits quietly, only snickering, making her victim wonder what will happen next. The suspense is often worse than the pain inflicted.
This time, she waited until Tricky Dick had partially recovered and his breathing returned to near normal, before slowly moving her stool down to the end of the table between the lawyer’s tethered knees. Finally, Cassandra spoke again.
“Are we beginning to understand each other, bastard,” she hissed out of the darkness beyond the lights over the table. “I am in control here, and you will do whatever I say. Isn’t that right?”
Cassandra’s agenda of punishment allowed no time for an answer. Her hand suddenly appeared out of the darkness and gripped Tricky Dick by his unprotected testicles. The lawyer winced at her rude, antagonistic touch.
“What’s wrong, bastard,” Cassandra smiled in the dark, “are my fingers cold?” Tricky Dick groaned and squirmed in response, as his tormentor squeezed and twisted her tenacious clench.
Finally, Cassandra hissed from the darkness, “Tell me, bastard, are you going to cooperate with me?”
Tricky Dick, writhing in pain from the pressure of Cassandra’s fingers, managed to blurt, “W-what, what do you want me…to do?”
Cassandra was ready with her demands. “When we’re through here tonight, I want you to sell all the property you have and move out of this city. I don’t want to see your face nor hear your voice on television, or read about you in the newspapers ever again. Understand, bastard?”