“Good news, Mister Quinn,” purred Shalina as her hand wandered down from my naked chest to my equally naked crotch and started stroking what she found there. “I’m going to jerk you off and let you spill your cum all over my chest, as if I were a common slut.” 

Well, shit, I needed to avoid that at all costs. 

My grunted plea for mercy was muffled by the rubber ball that violated my mouth. It was held in place by a leather strap that buckled behind my head. 

In an act of betrayal on the part of my body, the drool from my propped-open jaw was oozing down my torso and onto my genitals, becoming the lubricant this bitch was using to pleasurably pump my defenseless penis.  

I also pulled against the restraints that kept me standing and spread-eagle in her parlor, but the leather cuffs and chains refused to yield. If I could free myself, I could likely overcome my captress, but at the moment, and for the foreseeable future, I was helpless in her clutches.  

The tall, mature blonde smiled at my panic and my futile attempt to escape. 

“Ah, I see that the henchmen who secured you told you of my Number One rule: if a man cums without permission within these walls, he will be tortured.” 

She leaned in to whisper, “And, my dear Mister Quinn, I never, ever give permission. Your punishment would be unmercifully brutal, as of course, all torture should be.” 

The villainess stepped back to select and don a pair of blue latex gloves from a nearby table; a large table filled with various implements. I spotted items for pleasure and tools for torture.  

She selected what I thought was one of the former: a small bottle of what appeared to be the kind of lubrication used to facilitate general sexual practices. She quickly dispelled that notion.  

“Torture lotion,” she said, revealing the hand-written label. “My own special blend. Mineral oil mixed with spices and irritants that will stimulate pain receptors anywhere I choose to apply it. Thus the necessity for gloves.” 

She poured a healthy dollop into her protected hand and started working it into my cock, which was already half-rigid and growing.  

“The burning sensation will give you somewhat of a mental advantage in resisting or delaying your orgasm. However, the mixture also includes a pair of experimental chemicals called ‘Arouse-All’ and ‘Ever-Hard.’ As the names suggest, those will promote your sexual excitement, despite the unpleasantness of the other ingredients. I find that a fully erect cock is so much more fun to punish.”   

Shalina was laying it on thick. And by that, I mean the threatening fantasy verbiage as well as the oil, which I surmised was in reality just the harmless and mildly warming sex lube found in pharmacies. 

Shalina was proving to be a great Dominatrix. She knew how my sexual fantasies ran: over-the-top scenarios of danger and pain, but with only a smidgen of each in real life. 

Well, as real as it gets in a Domme's dungeon.

--------------- 

“I’m not a fan of being a true submissive,” I had told her the first time we met, in our get-acquainted session. “Or of being humiliated or mocked. I’d rather be a courageous captive spy or soldier, bound and tortured and sexed-up by a beautiful woman. Like yourself. Like in a movie.” 

“I can understand that,” she replied, taking my hand in an understanding way and sexily drawing a design on the back of it. “To be honest, I sometimes get a little weary of repeatedly having to demean and degrade and hurt my clients. This will be different; it should be fun.”  

Shalina had been recommended by a fellow patron of the various Dominatrices in the area. Although a bit older and less well-equipped than some, he told me, this cougar immersed herself in the fantasies that her clients cooked up.  

And, without revealing exactly what he meant, he implied that her services extended to more than just the usual limited sexual climax—via hand job or vibrator—than was typical in such situations.  

So, to start this session, I entered her ordinary-looking house in a modest suburb as I had once before. I stripped, and Shalina, dressed in a long robe, restrained and gagged me where I now stood. She left to slip off that covering, apply a bit more makeup, and when she returned, the fantasy started.  

Shalina stepped into the room, stunning in a suede bikini and leather boots. She seemed annoyed,  as she rubbed her neck and swept her blonde hair back over her head.  

“I hate these fucking baby-sitter jobs,” she muttered, obviously in character.

“Mister Quinn,” she announced, “I have been hired to keep you on ice for a time, to deter your investigation into my employers’ affairs. Since we’ll be together for a few days, we might as well have some fun. And by we, I mostly mean me.”   

With that, she circled my bound form, flicking her riding crop against various portions of my body, as if she were a sculptor determining what she could fashion from a random hunk of granite.  

"I will have fun. You, not so much."

She fondled my genitals and watched approvingly as they responded appropriately. It was at this moment that she told me of her plan to jerk me off, and then punish me for doing so.  

------------------ 

As Shalina applied the “torture lotion,” as she called it, we both settled into our roles as captor and captive. I squirmed and moaned, pretending that the concoction was excruciating to my genitals, when in actuality, her stroking and cock pumping were building me up to that fateful ejaculation. To aid in my playacting, I was actually under some stress, trying not to get too excited and end the session too fast.

She paused to make sure I didn’t explode too soon, unbuckled the leather gag from my head—she could tell the jaw strain was getting a little much—and then resumed her hand-job.  

“You bitch,” I said, in character, once my mouth was clear, “you’ll never get away with this.” 

“Come now, Mister Quinn. I’ve already gotten away with it. No one knows you’re here, and you are totally at the mercy of a sadist. A sexy sadist, I’ve been told, with a mouth and pussy men adore, but a sadist, none the less.” 

“My people will find me,” I replied, “and then you’ll be the one standing here, you stupid cunt. I will make sure ...” 

That’s when Shalina slapped me, her right hand on my left cheek, then left hand on right cheek.  

“Fuck you, Mister Quinn. And fuck your people. I will accept the occasional ‘bitch’ from my victims as I hurt them, but you are the only ‘cunt’ around here.” 

I was a bit stunned. She’d flogged me in a previous session, but never slapped me; maybe I had pushed the wrong button. She reached back to the table and showed me a massive black dildo, easily ten inches long and god-knows how big around.  

“I will coat this sucker in those spices and then ram it up your man cunt, your ass-cunt, you pecker-head. Don’t think I won’t.” 

My eyes must have shown my alarm, thinking I had gotten her genuinely angry. She set aside the dildo and wound it down a tad, reverting to the over-the-top fantasy elements we had established. 

“Actually, I have a better plan.”  

She stepped around behind me and ran her fingernails up and down my backbone. I shivered at the touch. 

“The human spine carries pain signals from every cell in your body up to your brain,” she told me. “I could whip you where you stand, but that would only affect the outer shell of your body.  

“Suppose I attach a series of electrodes to the skin over your spine. Running electricity to each individual vertebrae, I could simulate pain in any part of your body, any organ, outside or inside. In any order I want, in any intensity I want.” 

From behind me, she reached over my shoulder and dangled her black bra in front of me, obviously having removed it back there. I could now feel her naked nipples and her bountiful breasts on my shoulder blades. She rubbed them around, sensually.  

“Hook that thing up to a computer and an electric piano keyboard, and I could play a sonata that would send fire to every cell in your worthless form, up and down, back and forth. Every note, every chord would produce a new hell on earth for you, you mouthy bastard.” 

As she stepped around in front of me, she reached into her black panties and turned something on. A soft buzzing started, and her eyes flickered as the gadget began vibrating her pussy. 

With Shalina in boots, she was nearly my height. She put her face to mine, held my head steady, and then kissed me, which is something Domme don’t do.  

At least, not with me. 

It was soft at first, to see how I’d react, then the tongue slipped in.

It was nice. And long; she seemed to get a little lost in the mutual sensuous action.  

Meanwhile, she continued to pump my cock, which was now harder than ever  

“I could even adjust the current,” she continued, “to stimulate your sexual responses down here. How do you think you’ll fare when your cock never gets soft, and never stops spurting? An orgasm every couple of minutes, hour after hour, until your mind snaps, your body revolts, and your spirit ... breaks.” 

I could say nothing.  I was stunned by the fantastic, wildly erotic visions she was weaving.  

“Once you cum, that’s what I’ll do to you,” she whispered. “Now who’s the ‘cunt,’ Mister Quinn?” 

Shalina then sank to her knees in front of me and in another first for a Domme, started licking my cock.  

Beautifully, erotically.  

After a couple minutes of nothing but enticing licks and kisses, she wrapped her lips around my glans and started sucking.  

Keeping a vacuum-hold of the head with her mouth, she continued stroking my shaft in a rotating motion as her tongue worked its magic. The pressure in my groin built to intolerable levels. From the sounds emanating from her throat, I gathered she was peaking as well. 

She pulled away just long enough to remind me, “Don’t you cum,  you fucker. Don’t you dare cum, fuck-boy. Hold it. Hold it. Don’t give up!” 

There was no way that was going to happen. As I writhed and screamed in my bondage—I couldn’t help myself—I exploded in torrents of semen. My seed splashed, not on her chest as she had predicted earlier, but on her face.  

I jerked hard against my restraints, glad that they were well-secured to the pillars on each side of me. I may have had an orgasm that intense before, but I really couldn't remember when.  

Then, the only sounds in the room were of my panting and the buzzing of the gadget in Shalina's panties. 

She slowly stood up, her eyes a mixture of venom and lust. The vibrator finally did its job and the woman exploded in ecstasy, right in front of me.  

As she did so, Shalina unexpectedly kissed me again. This time, she transferred juice from her mouth to mine, and some of it seemed to be semen.  

“You should not have done that, Mister Quinn,” she whispered ominously, wiping the residue from her lips with the back of her hand. “You came without permission. And came in my mouth. My fucking mouth.” 

Taking the gag that I had worn previously, she rubbed the mouth-plug around her face to transfer some of my jizz onto it, and pushed it between my lips.  

(I have tasted my own cum before; I’m not the biggest fan, but I was in in no position here to complain. Besides, I was fantastically turned on at the unexpected turn of events. In the moment, I'd have slurped up anything she offered me.) 

She stood back, took a towel from the nearby table and dabbed her face. “I am going to go clean up and fix my makeup,” she quietly told me in an icy, almost emotionless voice.  

"When I get back,” she continued, “your cock had better be hard again; that’s the only way you’re going to survive the unbelievably depraved punishment I’m going to inflict on every – single – square – millimeter of your body. Of course, I’ll be taking a special interest in ...” 

She used the towel to wipe off her saliva and my semen from ... 

“ ... your genitals. So, yeah, an erection would be advisable, Mister Quinn. As I said, a hard dick is sooooo much more interesting to a woman like me. And when I’m interested, I’m a tiny bit less of a monster.” 

Fuck me, I thought. There's more?

“We have a long night ahead of us,” she said as she tapped my cheek in a small remembrance of what had transpired earlier. She turned to leave.

Shalina still had that aura of quiet anger about her, perhaps a real vexation. Coming down from my explosive orgasm, I was beginning to worry about her mental state. And my safety. I didn’t know this lady very well. 

(Usually, an orgasm for the man signaled the climax—yeah, I recognize the pun—of the session and the start of the wind-down period with a professional dominatrix such as her.) 

“Yes, a long night ahead, Mister Quinn,” she repeated. She stepped back and whispered in my ear. “Don’t worry, Kevin. I won’t charge you for the extra time. I’m having too much fun.” 

As she retreated, I breathed easier; she used my first name as a sign we were still okay, her and I.  

Of course, I would reimburse her for the overtime we were headed into. That wasn’t an issue. What was an issue was whether Little Kevin was going to respond the way Shalina wanted, as quickly as she desired. 

As she walked away she wriggled out of her bikini bottom—great ass—and let it drop to the floor. She called out, over her shoulder, “I might even fuck your brains out.” 

As she left the room, I felt a stirring down below. Oh yeah, Little Kevin was going to rise to the occasion.  Anything to please my Dream Domme.