“What piece of work is a man,” wrote Shakespeare, as he imagined poor Hamlet slipping ever deeper into a state of male melancholia and madness. Well… he should have asked me, because decades of experience as The Bondage Mistress have taught me precisely what makes every man tick and what pieces of their anatomy encourage them to visit me, begging to be immobilised in bondage and permitted to worship at my feet.
That driving force behind all masculine madness is their balls: aka their testes, their cobblers, their family jewels, their cojones, their rocks, their nuts, their big hairy bollocks!
Grab a man by his testicles, and his heart and his head will follow you forever.
That’s the reason why I sometimes like to stage a special day for one of my most devoted bondage clients.
A day when we can both concentrate on what’s most important to his happiness: I call it “The Day of Balls in Bondage.”
Naturally, I do not normally give my slave any warning that today’s the day he really should not have begged me to “do whatever you want to me, Mistress.”
He arrived for a pre-lockdown session at my new laboratory premises in West London hoping against hope that he might be allowed a little pleasure to mix in with the humiliation, degradation and sorrow that I usually love to pile on his plate.
He, rather timorously, did enquire whether that day might be one of my rare “be nice to the sissy slave days”, but I soon disabused him of such a ridiculous notion.
Ordering him to strip, I selected a suitable little black sissy maid’s dress, and ordered him to put on his own suspender belt, little white girlie knickers and stockings.
His attempts at dressing himself are always fun to watch as he struggles with the feminine clips and silky sensations whilst desperately trying to ensure that his stocking seams are perfectly straight: a lesson he learned the hard way a long time ago.
Best of all is the way in which each piece of TV clothing gradually robs him of last traces of masculine bravado and turns him into a sissy slut craving to be humiliated by his Mistress.
It was only after he had attained that submissive state that I announced that his balls were to be the target of all my attention that day. “There will be ball busting kicks a little later,” I told him, “but I want to test some new CBT equipment I’ve been itching to try.”
I could see the fear growing in his eyes as I showed him the new, sparkling stainless steel, combined humbler and ball-stretcher which I was determined to use.
That fear turned into something approaching panic as I revealed the true sadistic nastiness of the device, which is a spiked plate that screws down to crush the balls to whatever degree of discomfort I wish to dish out.
Even so, I have to give him credit for laying down passively to be strapped to the kneeling bench, after I suggested that he might be able to earn some limited wanking time later, if he accepted the fate for his pathetic balls without fuss and complaint.
Well… I have to report that the ball stretcher and spiked clamps completely lived up to Mistress’s expectations.
The more I turned the screws, the more the sharp spikes dug into the skin of his ball sac, and the more his testicles were squeezed and distorted in the most pleasing way.
I was enjoying myself so much that, just for the fun of it, I turned up the electrics of his butt plug even higher than usual, so as to distract him from the pain of the fun I was having with his balls.
I could happily have gone on like that all day, with him whimpering into his bondage straps, but I pride myself on my skill in NOT damaging slaves in any permanent way, and I could see that the colour of his plums was starting to resemble … well, the colour of a plum I suppose!
Time to release him and work a little more on the cock side of the equation.
Despite the squeezing and the pinprick attentions of both the humbler, and a pin wheel I employed for good measure, I was pleased that he still managed an erection which I could tease and frustrate during the wanking time he’d been promised.
It must have been a ‘be nice to slave’ day in some ways after all, because once his begging for an orgasm became distracting, I took pity (a rare event) and allowed him to spurt.
After all, everything cums to he who waits.
