Elevator Surprise
Today, after consulting with “Fridolin in humility”, who of course has a different name in real life, I came up with a surprise for him before he enters my studio...:
When he enters the elevator, various “utensils” await him, with which he can certainly amuse me more than usual! A diving suit and matching goggles hang over a narrow kitchen chair. Next to it on the floor are flippers in his shoe size. In addition, a plastic paddling pool that still needs to be inflated.
When Fridolin sees the tiny foot pump with adapter, he senses trouble... Unusual physical exercises await him. In large letters on a piece of paper, I have instructed him to undress completely and change into the suit, and only then, with the flippers on his feet and the diving goggles on his face, to operate the air pump!
When the elevator doors open after this exhausting yet ridiculous procedure, he sees two large watering cans next to the studio entrance and knows exactly what he has to do now...
He rings the bell, his feet, adorned with flippers, are already in the water, and he can just turn his head to the side when – after I have opened the door for him – a slippery rubber fish flies past his ears!
Everything else remains our personal secret...
A slave who tried to move into a new, different world of SM
Some time ago, I tried something different – another studio – and it was a disaster!
My mistress laughed at me when I told her about it and encouraged me to give her the details.
This is my report:
My ideas remained illusions, my inclinations were not respected, my taboos were not accepted, my idea of SM was not practiced.
little competence, little fascination, little passion, little intellect.
The equipment I felt was inadequate, the furniture inspired me imaginary, the hygiene was far from impressive, the discretion left much to be desired.
By quiet in the studio during a session I understand something else.
Now one of the said sessions was over, for me simple and unemotional, I felt unsatisfied, even duped and disappointed. I looked at myself and at my watch and thought to myself – in a rather uninspired posture – “that was it again” or “why am I doing this to myself again”, as well as “why don't I realize from the outset that it won't work there!”
My mistress answers my questions: “Because you are repeatedly exposed to your sexual desires and you never give up on your hope of finding an even better studio – with an even stricter mistress – that is even better suited to you – both mentally and physically – and of an even higher quality!”
After this explanation, I feel even more lost, and I know exactly where I will end up again for the time being!
A humble servant speaks
I have only been back in the country for two days and have been nervous since yesterday evening because I received my new appointment with my highly esteemed mistress at that time. With my head bowed, I stand one meter away from the front door of her dungeon in Munich, Bavaria. When she opens the door, I take a step forward to below the door frame and fall to my knees in front of her.
Humbly, I try to catch the tip of the black patent leather boot on her right leg with my tongue. She abruptly pulls her leg back. “Stop that, my servant,” she orders me, “you will get up immediately and explain to me decently and clearly, while you undress, where you have been for so long!”
Still dazed, I straighten up and squint towards the open door. “You'll close that, or do you think that's my job?” she observes sternly, giving me a hefty shove. I turn around obediently and quietly close the door. Carefully, I unbutton my jacket and trousers, “aha,” my esteemed dominatrix and mistress grins, “even from behind I can see that my well-to-do man still wears elegant tailored trousers.” I nod in agreement and turn to her. Her left arm points to a high chair, where I put my things. Then I take off my pullover and shirt.
“So, what is it?” she asks impatiently, and her eyes fix on my body as I stand before her in my underwear and socks. “Oh, you know, Mistress,” I mumble, ‘I know I should have said goodbye beforehand, but this business trip came up so suddenly that... your fine, always manicured,’ she draws out the ‘ü’ dangerously long in a high-pitched voice, ‘fingers were unable to dial my phone number,’ she interrupts my words laughing sarcastically.
I put my arms back uncertainly and hear myself say quietly, “You are right, mistress, punish me for it.” At that moment she starts slapping me: two on the right cheek, two on the left cheek, over and over again, while she says the individual digits of her phone number loudly and clearly. I swallow wordlessly and let everything wash over me. Her phone number is long, it's the mobile number with eleven digits.
My cheeks are glowing painfully when she finally stops. “That was the appetizer,” she explains vigorously, “for the main course, I'll take more time than usual.” She stands threateningly in front of me and pulls my arms, which are folded behind my back, forward.
When I tremble, I only get a smug “well, my nothing of a worm, now we continue in a cozy, appropriate ambience,” and she quickly ties both ends of my hands to a short rope. Her right hand reaches into the middle of the tight fixation, and then she pulls me behind her into her dominant realm, her dungeon, her place of pleasure, to train and torture me, the naughty human.
Yes, indeed, building a snowman is fun...
It has been cold for many days, really frosty, more than minus 15 degrees!
Unfortunately, I told my mistress that I will soon be going to Norway as a medical professional. I have been made a good offer there; I have acquired the necessary language skills in a 3-month course.
My mistress thinks that I should get used to the cold and the effects associated with it – in reality she is thinking of the “icy torments” with and at her outdoor studio... When she shows me the snow-covered roof terrace through the double doors, I have an idea of what is coming to me:
Of course!
After showering, my hands and ankles are shackled with metal cuffs, and I am given a silver-colored neck corset around my neck. The master looks at my stomach, “It's time for you to go to the home of the fish, hopefully you'll lose some weight there, your rucksack won't go unnoticed!”
Before I can say anything about protection against the cold, with reference to the Eskimos, who, after all, - sensibly! - eat oily and fatty foods, she has already wrapped my - as she mockingly notes - “tummy” in a black leather corset and tightly laces it at the back. I try to breathe deeply. Madame comments on this with a “out you go to the roof garden, there you may take a lot of air, more than you would like!”
So I stand there, naked, freezing and looking around.
My mistress comes with a small shovel, which reminds me of my childhood days when we used to dig in the sand and build castles on an East Frisian island by the sea. I can imagine what she expects of me now! I shovel and dig in the heavy snow, I shape and roll the white splendor.
I don't even notice whether I'm sweating or freezing. My feet and hands tingle, my body starts to tremble.
Then – after quite a while – I finally have the result: a white, half-height monster consisting of a thick, round lower part and a smaller attachment that is supposed to represent a head.
“Well done, very nice,” the trusted mistress praises me. ”You deserve a reward before you mutate into a make-up artist.”
I look at her questioningly, shivering and chattering my teeth.
Now comes the salvation: Madame fetches a large, wide fur coat and lets me slip into it – what a warming blessing! After I have dressed the snowman – in S&M style, of course – with a mask, gag, collar and PVC skirt, and finally stuck several cane sticks into his icy body, my mistress claps her hands – wearing latex gloves – almost appreciatively and encourages me with a gesture to go towards the patio door.
The inside session I have been longing for for hours can finally begin.
Elite dirty tricks
Today my piglet has announced itself. I have laid out a straw-like blanket on the floor, a wooden bowl for water and an old ceramic plate with leftover food.
I look joyfully into the nervous eyes of Valentin, my pig, as he stands opposite me in the hallway of my studio and slightly... I send him upstairs to the bathroom and recommend that he apply the powder provided to his skin after showering.
He obediently follows my advice and, at my command, puts on a pink catsuit made of thin nylon. The Swiss hosiery company “F.” would be very pleased...
Then I put a durable pig mask over his head, which is firmly attached to his head and neck. Valentin starts to grunt and lies down on the marble floor. I tie a thick cord around his right hind foot, and tie his hands together with light ropes on his back.
My slender piglet makes a sound.
I wrap it in a thick jute potato sack and drag it out of my studio, across the hallway and out into the backyard, towards the containers. After all, I don't want Valentin to tear the tight, tights-like suit, but to protect it.
In the container, he can wallow to his heart's content as a real pig without a jute bag, and he drinks, belches and eats accordingly...
Later in my kitchen... What I then do with the funny, loudly squeaking animal will not be revealed. It should only be mentioned that we both enjoyed it immensely!
Box dream
My servant A. usually comes to my own private studio on a regular basis. Even last time, the situation seemed much too friendly, almost fun.
I had hired a nice young lady who was always laughing, which may have been a reason for me to consider the atmosphere too frivolous and improper. Today I was all the better for it.
Servant A. has not been here for almost half a year due to business trips abroad. He had always reported in from time to time and talked about his yearnings for torturous ordeals, but that was it.
Now the opportunity has come for me to confront him more viciously than I have in a long time. As soon as he walks through the door, I give him four strong slaps in the face – two on the right and two on the left. Then he has to undress immediately down to his underpants.
My new black punishment box with all its dangerous openings is waiting for him in my salon – right next to the bar...
Servant A. is too big around the waist, but that's not a problem for us. On the first floor, there are enough corsets with strong laces to tie up his bulk until it almost takes his breath away. But now he fits into the box.
When I can only see his head and hands sticking out, his trembling feet in front of him, I realize how good it was that I had built up enough anger and resentment for him over the past few months!
