As a unique gift idea, My sub joe had a portrait commissioned by the famous FemDom artist, Sardax. We decided on a classic setting with joe in tow, masked, collared and leased following Me up a set of stairs. The monochrome watercolor turned out just as I wanted with the slightly sinister feel of dusk creeping in the building as we mount the stairs.
It has a place of honor in My personal Dungeon and I will treasure it always.
To see more of Sardax’s work visit his website.
How long She had left him bound there naked atop the medical bondage table he could not say. eugene shivered. The smell of strong disinfectant filled his nostrils as he lay there, completely powerless, atop the cold, black slab.
“The diagnosis is excessive masturbation,” Mistress Ayn said simply, reading from a chart. Mistress Ayn was dressed in a green medical uniform, a non-regulation one cut in such a way that it allowed a glimpse of Her lovely, pale bosom.
“Let’s see if the castration was successful. That’s really the only cure for this type of problem.” eugene heard the snap of latex as Mistress Ayn adjusted Her gloves. The Mistress brought the bright medical light down to eugene’s groin and began Her examination. “Not much here,” the Domina said. Mistress Ayn used an array of sharp, metal tools to carefully, thoroughly probe the submissive’s limp cock and testicles.
The Mistress took Her time with the “procedure.” Each tool that She used hurt eugene in a different way. It was like a cleaning at the dentist, but down there between the thighs.
“Just as I expected,” Mistress Ayn said. “The castration was not completely successful.” Mistress Ayn’s practiced eye had caught something. Despite the pain, or perhaps because of it, eugene’s small cock evinced just the hint of a slight, turgid erection.
“Pull your legs up to your shoulders,” Mistress Ayn commanded. “As high as you can.” The Mistress reached for the lubricant on the metal tray there beside the table.
The castration complete, Mistress Ayn took a moment to examine her handiwork.
“Much better,” the Domina said to herself. “Now there will be no more rude erections, no more messy ejaculations.”
Almost gently, Mistress Ayn cradled what had been eugine’s manhood in the palm of Her gloved hand. The submissive winced at the Mistress’s touch, streaks of pain shooting through his limp member like fragile strands of a spider web.
“Good boy,” Mistress Ayn whispered. These were the words that eugene longed so much to hear.
“Now you can serve Me in many ways” Mistress Ayn continued. “Purely, simply, without the interference of a hard, dripping cock.” Mistress Ayn stroked the stretched skin of eugene’s former member once again, hurting him but pleasing Her.
“It will be better this way, Mistress Ayn continued. Her voice was filled with the sort of confidence born from years of breaking submissives, bending men to her will.
“Good boy,” Mistress Ayn intoned. “Perhaps someday you will understand how this is really all for the best. For now, let Me explain how you may begin serving Me.”
The sound of a something being dragged across the dungeon floor filled Eugene’s ears, frightening the kneeling, semi-nude submissive. Wild thoughts filled the slave’s head. What could it be? A Saint Andrew’s Cross? A Pillory? Something Worse? Eugene shuddered.
“We need to talk about your sentence,” Mistress Ayn said as She drew up a chair. Mistress Ayn sat. “Your chastity pleases Me, slave.”
Eugene literally blushed with happiness, a faint pink glow spreading across the skin of his naked body. The smiling Domme reached down and, between Her thumb and forefinger, gingerly took hold of the slave’s testicles, his most delicate and vulnerable of parts, now tightly ensconced like plump grapes against the tight fabric of the pink, silken panties.
“These belong to Me now.” Mistress Ayn gently squeezed the tender manfruit She had picked, as if to emphasize the import of Her words. “Do you understand, Eugene?” the Mistress queried. The kneeling slave nodded weakly in the affirmative. “Good,” Mistress Ayn said. “Because your sentence of chastity may very well last long beyond this session. In fact, it will be until I decide otherwise.” Mistress Ayn squeezed harder. “Your sentence could be weeks, or months or even years.”
The lovely Domme squeezed once again, harder still. Eugene’s thoughts were clear. His desire to remain celibate for Mistress Ayn, to please Her in that way, constituted a form of subtle psychological control far stronger and more efficacious than any type of simple metal lock known to man. Or Woman.
Mistress Ayn had never thought much of Eugene. He was middle-aged, submissive, pale and soft. At the moment he knelt feebly in a profile of sharp relief to the glorious picture presented by the Mistress. Whereas Ayn was beautiful, radiant, in black heels and stockings, pearls and chemise, Eugene shivered, nude, upon the dungeon floor. Only his continued practice of complete chastity pleased the Domme.
“Lick,” Mistress Ayn commanded. Her voice was at once calm and strong. Eugene did as he was instructed, the tip of his tongue softly caressing the instep of Mistress Ayn’s proffered foot. At once, Eugene felt the tight pull of fingers in his hair. He winced in pain and Mistress Ayn smiled.
“Lick” came the order again. Eugene struggled to maintain his balance there upon his knees. Mistress Ayn had seen fit to make two “arrangements” before the session. One was to simply cuff Eugene’s hands behind his back. The other was to tie a single white ribbon around his cock, marking him.
“Have you been wearing your underwear as we talked about?” Mistress Ayn queried.
Eugene nodded his head gently, “Yes.”
It was a simple but effective method of control. Every time Eugene lowered his trousers or simply felt the silkiness of the panties, he was reminded that his manhood, in fact, belonged to Mistress Ayn.