Techniques of a Dominant Woman Part 2

by Mistress Michelle

It is a waist-belt, with two ball-stretcher straps as I described for Harry, except that the vertical straps come up the back across his buttocks. In consequence his balls are dragged hard back between his legs-and I do mean hard. Lying along the underside of his penis is a stiff leather strap about an inch wide, and this has three short straps fitted, each about a half-inch wide. The wide strap is laid along his penis and strapped in position by the three narrow straps buckled very tight around it. These keep it erect all the time. His penis is then dragged backward and the wide strap drawn up between his buttocks and buckled to the belt. It is not possible to bring this tight right away, but during about fifteen minutes or so, a hole at a time, it can be done. He has a long penis, and the tip of it just about reaches his anus.

It is a simple condition. He wears that belt, and he can dress like a girl while he is working as my slave.

He doesn't wear it-he can get the hell out, anytime.

He stays!

There are times, when I have all these slaves under control, that my own sexuality rises beyond control. Then I want Betty, and we usually go to bed because it's more comfortable than trying to make love on the davenport. I like the slaves to come to watch, but obviously I don't want them joining in - and it is always possible that if I overdrove them all at, once they might just break loose. So I have had a number of strong hooks cemented into the wall of my bedroom. I put handcuffs on them all, and fasten the chains of the cuffs to the hooks in the walls. They just stand around, mostly on tiptoe, watching. When things get specially exciting, I can often hear them groaning with desire, which I find very stimulating. In fact, if I find it too stimulating, I may stop temporarily making love to Betty, take a whip and beat the slaves for ten minutes or so. Then I go back to what I was doing. After all, I do a lot for my slaves; it's only fair they should do something for me!

I have found that the most important thing for all of us is to keep them occupied. The enslavement has to be genuine while it lasts, otherwise no one gets any satisfaction from it, not even me. As far as I am concerned, these men are my slaves, all the time. To emphasize this, I keep them all in chastity-boxes even when they are not with me, because it pleases me to know that I am exercising control over their sex lives even when they are away from me. But as soon as they enter my home, they are my slaves in every detail.

Otherwise I will not have them come.

There are no "observers", apart from Betty and myself. All are involved. But while I keep them all at useful work as much as I can, there are obvious limits. For instance, let no one kid you, it is not always sunny and warm in California! In fact, it can get very wet and very cold, so that there is neither opportunity nor need for gardening or outside maintenance. The whole place is kept immaculate inside, but even then, there are limits to how much can be done. I don't want pots of paint around all the time!

Sometimes, being rather desperate to keep the slaves at work in winter, I have had half a dozen or more on their knees all evening, cleaning the floor of our very large kitchen, It is floored with quarry tiles, sealed so all they normally need is a wash. For mere occupation I sometimes have them lick the whole floor clean with their tongues, allotting each one so many tiles. With their hands cuffed behind them, mostly naked and with their white butts sticking up in the air, they make an amusing sight. But I cannot repeat this too often, obviously. I keep this occupation only for a real emergency, when everyone seems to grow a bit bored. While they are washing the floor, I supervise the job with my favorite whip, and by the time the job is finished, those buttocks are usually scarlet instead of white. And the groans are genuine, because I use a whip with considerable skill and experience.

Still, there's times when all I want to do is curl up with a good book, or watch a TV show. And if I have six or seven slaves around the place I have to keep them out of mischief. So, I bought some stunning Italian-designed and made furniture, made of chrome tube with soft leather cushions. And I had some of the slaves modify the furniture for me, drilling holes and fitting bolts to hold straps.

When I am in the mood for a cozy evening by the fire, I collect the slaves who are around at the time and have them fitted up with the various appliances I like them to wear. Then I position them on the furniture and Betty and I strap them tight in place. Two, for instance, are strapped to the arms of the five-seat lounge, usually head-down, with their hair at floor level and their feet at the top of the lounge, and facing out so I can see that they are nicely erect all the time. Three more can be strapped, kneeling and leaning hard backward, to the legs of the circular coffee table.

Two more, standing, can be strapped. to the floor lamp.

I don't like to be interrupted while I am reading or watching TV, so I always gag them at such times. I keep a supply of custom-made leather gags for the purpose, which makes it easy. With them all in position, I can settle down for three or four hours, knowing that my slaves are out of mischief. I like to know they are there, completely at my disposal, helpless and inert, all their thoughts, and all their lives at that time entirely devoted to me and under my control.

So long as I am not reading, if I am watching some light show that does not need much concentration, I may let Gustav, if he is there-and he usually is-earn himself some money by moving from one slave to the other in turn, masturbating or performing fellatio on them. He never makes a sound; he dare not because he knows that I would beat him until he howled if he disturbed me. Subconsciously I am aware of his pain, and the anxiety he suffers from in case he should have an emission while that probe is held tight in his meatus. At the same time, I know how much he despises and hates himself because he has to do such demeaning things. It is not pleasant for him to be a male prostitute, but at the same time, that is what he wants. Very strange.

And there are times when nothing will satisfy me but to have them all whipped until they scream, one after the other. In that mood, I like to sit and watch, while Betty does the whipping. Betty, of course is also my slave, but I love her as well, which makes it rather different. I do not whip her often, and then only in private. And when there has been a general whipping, that is when I need Betty most of all, so it pleases me too.

As I told you, my problem has always been that I have more willing slaves than I can cope with. There is a physical limit to the number I want to deal with at one time. But they beg and plead just to be allowed to come to the house; just to sit or even stand, against a wall or in a corner, fully dressed or naked as I prefer, in pain or out of it. About a year ago I decided that I could do something about this, which would be nice for all of us. The idea came just as the weather turned bad, which was convenient as I had a lot of labor going spare. We have a large basement, most of which is unused. There is one very big room next to the garage which is empty. It has a simple concrete floor, walls and ceiling, but it can be heated or air conditioned according to the time of year, although we had never used it.

I told the slaves what I wanted, and left them to it.

Within a couple of days there was enough lumber and nails, tools and paint to build a house. Along one wall they built me ten closets, each eighteen inches wide, and a foot deep, with a strong wood door. I had four of them built eight feet high, four were four feet high and the remaining two only three feet high. In the eight foot ones they fixed a chain with wristlets, and in the smaller ones wristlets of metal were screwed direct to the side walls. I could now accommodate ten slaves for any length of time. Four of them had to stand on a block while the wristlets were fastened. Then the block would be removed, leaving them strained with their arms high over their heads.

Four more had their wrists clamped to the side-walls, so that they had to stand bent forward to get into the four-foot height. The remaining two were also fastened by the wrists, and they had to crouch down with their knees almost hitting their chins. The doors could be locked.

On the other wall I had them build for me ten very small boxes with top lids made in two parts. Along the join of the lids, they cut three round holes, the edges of which were covered with foam and soft leather. We did some experiments with the boxes, and found they could be no more than two feet high, eighteen inches wide and two feet deep. The slave gets into the box and kneels down as low as he can get. Then the lid is closed down, with his head and hands protruding through the holes, so he cannot withdraw them. Then the lid is locked fast.

That's all there is. Nothing more. I thought this would make it possible for me to keep my surplus slaves out of trouble for years to come, and for the first couple of months it was rare to have more than three or four of them there. But its popularity grew and today it is a rare evening that the cellar room is not full. All that happens is that they must undress, and then they are confined in the place I have allocated to them. They have no choice. They usually arrive about 8 p.m., and get released about midnight, by which time they can hardly stand. Sometimes I go down there and inspect them, but that is all that happens. The ones in the closets, sometimes come aware of the bright light as I open the door for a moment. Then they are in the dark again, not knowing whether they have to wait ten minutes for final release, or three hours. The ones in the boxes can see me, and I can see their faces, lined and creased often with the strain and pain of their posture. But there is no sound, because all are securely gagged.

I guess to many people it must seem a strange way to pass an evening, and often five or six in succession, but they obviously like it because they keep coming back, more and more often. I certainly like it, to feel that all these men are under my control, my domination, voluntarily, without my having to lift a finger. I have had the basement full and as many as ten active slaves upstairs all at one time, and it's rare for there to be less than six free and eight or ten in the basement.

Some of the basement slaves alternate with the upstairs ones, but most of the prisoners downstairs seem to prefer that kind of treatment and do not wish to change. With the free ones, I make frequent changes of occupation and interest, not only to please myself, but also to prevent them from getting bored and to keep them happy! For instance, I may decree that for a week they are all to dress like teenage boys, or even younger. Or I may want them all dressed as young girls, or entirely naked, depending on my mood. It amuses me to set them hunting and shopping for frilly panties, bras and stockings, knowing how much embarrassment this must cause them. There is a kind of power in that too.

Leo, of course, is in a different category, at one time more privileged and more deeply enslaved. His slavery extends unbroken from one week's end to the next, with no let up. He sleeps every night on a rubber air-bed on the floor at the foot of the big bed which Betty and I share. His last chore at night is to put away our clothes and tidy the bathroom; his first in the morning to bring us orange juice and coffee. Always he must be willing, obliging and cheerful. I don't like scowling aces around me. And he knows that there is a penalty for failing to give me a bright smile and a polite greeting. At such times I use on him one of a variety of hoods that I have bought and had made over the years. Poor Leo! He hates wearing hoods. But, of course, he puts them on without a murmur, simply because he knows that if once he tried to resist he would be a slave without a mistress!

He has seen me get rid of several slaves quite ruthlessly. I never allow a slave back in the house once he has made any resistance to anything that is done to him. It is either total obedience, or the deal is off-as it would be with Leo too.

And in addition to the hoods, when he is in disgrace I make him dress in old, ill-fitting, torn and ragged clothes, so that lie looks a bit like Cinderella.

This too, he hates because his chief pleasure in life is to think of himself as a pretty little girl. When he is hooded and dressed in a ragged gown, with trodden-down old shoes on his bare feet, he wears such a hang-dog look, with his shoulders drooping! But after all, to avoid it all he has to do is to remember in detail what I require in my personal slave. Then he stays out of trouble, except for an occasional whipping. I have one brown leather hood that I specially like to use on him at any reasonable excuse-and sometimes, to be honest, without one.

I bought this one on a trip to Hamburg a couple of years ago. It is made of what they call "boiled leather", from which I gather that they literally boil the very thick leather until it is soft and pliable. Then they mold it over a wooden shape of a head and face and leave it to dry out. When dry, it is hard and stiff like the sole of a shoe. Inside there is a thick layer of foam rubber, and at back a large panel which opens so the hood will fit right over Leo's head and face.

There are two holes, one opposite each eye, and there is a shiny brass trap-door at the mouth, large enough to get a spoon in. The back panel fastens with straps and bright brass buckles, and when it is closed a brass rod is pushed through all the straps.

Then a loop at the end of the rod is locked to a loop fixed to the hood.

So, with this hood on, I can keep Leo like that for days on end. He knows that when he gets to wear it, it will be a long session, because he can feed through the trap-door, and use a straw for drinking through. He can see well enough to do his work. The foam rubber presses against his head and face and closes over his ears too. At first I found this inconvenient, until one of my other slaves fitted a deaf-aid to the hood. Now Leo wears a plug in his left ear, and when I want to give him an order, I switch it on. For the rest of the time it is not inconvenient for him to be deprived of hearing.

When he is wearing it, I notice him sometimes, feeling the cold, hard leather, highly polished, with his finger-tips as if trying to feel his own face under it. After about a week in that hood he seems quite dazed for a day or so.

I have another hood for short-term severe punishment. This is a large, strong bag made of canvas coated with rubber. It fits right over his head and fastens at the neck with a tight strap and a chain and lock over it. The only opening is a narrow-bore rubber tube which goes through the canvas in front of his nose. To the end of the tube is attached one of those rubber pumps used to inflate an air-bed.

With that hood on, Leo has to pump, literally for his life! Not much air gets through that tube at each squeeze of the pump, so he has to work it at around a hundred strokes a minute just to keep going. And he dare not stop. From time to time I can see him panic, until he recovers and carries on pumping. I kept him in that hood once for ten hours, and when it was taken off, he cried himself to sleep! He was a nervous wreck.

A couple of months ago it occurred to me to have Gustav masturbate him while he was wearing the hood. He had been pumping with quiet desperation for about two hours when he first felt Gustav's lips on his penis and his fingers holding his balls. Leo jumped as though he had been shot, and stopped pumping, until he suddenly realized he was stifling.

After that, no matter what Gustav did to him, he pumped and pumped. Even when, after about an hour I nodded to Gustav to finish him off, Leo did not stop pumping...

I have been told that I am nothing more than a lesbian who hates men.

What answer can I give to that? Except to say, "You may be right!"

Naming names gets no one anyplace. But if it's true, I'll say let another girl stand up and be counted who is able to have about thirty men at one time jumping up and down in a state of sexual excitement, without her ever laying as much as a finger on them! I know I treat my slaves cruelly-but if you can understand it, I also use them with compassion. In fact, we are all real friends. There's not one of them I wouldn't trust in an emergency; there's not one who would not do anything1for me if I let them. In fact, their only complaint is that I will not allow any of them to do anything out of the line of slavery. Because that is the way we are and the way we live, all of these men are successful and most of them are rich. But I want nothing from them except what they want to give - total obedience. Of course, they cheat! They all know by now that I would at once return a piece of valuable jewelry, and that a second offer would result in banishment. But they have found that I am soft about flowers and plants, with the result that some days the house looks almost like a funeral parlor!

Just once - it was about three months after I had the basement finished and it was being used to capacity almost every night-I told Barrie that I had to have a hundred thousand dollars by the following afternoon. I let him believe that I was being seriously blackmailed.

At 2 p.m. the next day, seven of my slaves arrived within ten minutes of one another, although they do not usually come until 6 p.m. at the earliest and always call first to make sure it is convenient. Between them they brought a hundred thousand dollars in cash, old, unmarked notes. Two brought their guns and one brought a private detective who had two guns!

I told them what I had done; that I had just idly wondered how genuine were their professions of regard and loyalty for their mistress. I apologized for the trouble I had caused and thanked them all most sincerely. The net result was that I ended up with another slave-the private eye-who is a charming man. He cannot often come because so much of his work is at odd hours, but when he does he is a very satisfactory slave indeed-and in the meantime he is one of my "sexless club" because he too has to wear a chastity box!

Now, these were the men I told you about. You know the way I treat them, depriving them of sex, yet doing everything possible to increase their desire for it. I humiliate them, I torture them, I make them dress up in clothes that usually do not suit them. I whip them and I lock them up for hours at a time, night after night. And apart from an occasional, and often very painful masturbation they have to live like monks. Yet, when they thought I was in trouble, look what happened. They turned up, ready to pay up, or do battle, without any question at all. So I'm a "lesbian who hates men?" If I am, you may be damn sure that men don't hate me!

Recently I decided that all my slaves should learn the delights of extremely high heels, since so many of them seem keen on them. I knew it would take a long time to get all the boots made, so in the meantime I had two of the slaves make up some simple substitutes. All it took was three straps, a metal ring and a length of chain, with a metal rod about six inches long. Each slave needed a pair of these, so I had them make up 10 pairs. One strap is buckled around the leg below the knee and another around the ankle, just above the joint. The third goes around the foot at the arch. The six-inch rod is attached to the back of the ankle-strap.

To fit this "boot", the metal ring with chain attached is passed around the big toe. The foot is "pointed" and the strap drawn along the sole of the foot under the strap at the arch. It continues over the back of the heel to the end of the long rod, which is bent into a loop through which the chain is threaded.

Finally, pulled really tight, the chain is attached to the strap below the knee. Result-the foot is firmly held "pointed", with the foot itself almost in a straight line with the leg, as though the wearer was wearing eight-inch spike heels-but without the support they would give. When they had all been fitted, I told them to stand up-whereupon most of them sat down again, fast.

It was half an hour before they could all stand, and a couple of hours before they could even hobble, let alone walk. However, on this occasion both Betty and I helped them concentrate-with our whips, and at the end of the night they were doing quite well. The next day they were all lame, but within a week they were all managing to walk well in their "invisible boots". I kept them in these training devices until the boots were ready, and in consequence they were able to settle into eight-inch heels without anything more than a sigh of relief.

About a year ago I received a proposition from a man who was my slave for a short time. He was a "rich millionaire", who owned a small island in the Bahamas. He wanted to set up there a regular penal colony, with a cell-block, a torture chamber and all the luxuries, and to run it as a commercial proposition. He reckoned that men with plenty of money to spend would pay five times as much for two weeks there as they would at a five-star hotel.

Up to that point I did not disagree with him. However, the next step was that he wanted me to manage it. He offered me twenty-five percent of the action and a guaranteed salary, tax free that appealed in amount even to me, although I don't have to wonder where the next thousand is coming from.

I took a day and night to think it over. When he called next evening I told him not to call, and that I did not wish to see him again, ever. He was banished. I guess he never did understand why I turned him down. Some people are so insensitive! I'm not, at least in my own estimation which is all I care about, a high-class Madam running an irregular house. I'm just a woman with unusual desires who has surrounded herself with a lot of friends who share the reverse side of her desires. In filling their needs, she fills her own. And she's got some good friends as a result.

That's all there is to it, and I would no more commercialize it than I would hand my card around to barmen and become a call-girl. I'm not condemning call-girls either. In their circumstances maybe I'd have been one. Who knows. But if I had fallen for that proposition I would have been like them, without their excuse of poverty and difficult circumstances.

So I shall continue to run my slave-farm and to operate my stud of unsexed men for as long as we all enjoy it. When the joy goes out of it all, for all of us, then I shall move away, taking Leo and Betty with me, and settle down to a quiet life with my girl-lover and my man-slave for the rest of my life. But somehow I think it's going to be a long time before that happens!