Mistress Talia: a sadistic domme

I'm taking a bit of a break from the western fantasy to revisit my previous fantasies...

For a full week, Suzanne's punishment continued: she was required by her gender-bending captor to live as a bitch. She remained on all fours at all times, naked except for the furs wrapped around her knees and hands. In addition, she was forbidden to speak at all, allowed only to whimper or bark.

Her bed of straw and blanket were taken away from her, she now slept curled on the floor as close to the fire as possible, on the cold hard ground.

Suzanne was uncertain what she'd done to cause Chris to be so furiously angry with her.

But she didn't even consider that, rather she immediately knelt before him, hands clasped behind her back, head bent forward, in her traditional method of greeting him.

As the days stretched into weeks, Suzanne became an expert at licking Chris. To begin with, she'd been hesitant, slightly shocked and disgusted at being forced to eat pussy, but over time, she had learned.

She was still very confused about Chris. She did not wish to set "him" off by the accusation of being female again, so continued to think of "him" as male, even while confronted daily, and sometimes several times a day, with the inconvertible evidence that he was not.

Besides, it was easier to think of Chris as male. No female behaved as he did, taking what he wanted from her again and again. In these past weeks, she had learned things she'd have never even dreamt of just a few shorts weeks ago...

It had been a week since she'd first asked Chris to use her, and Suzanne could barely sit, she was sore inside and out. He was out checking the traps, and she considered her situation as she completed the daily chores.

There were bruises on her ass from the brutal spankings, which were nearly always followed by rough and forceful sodomy. This had been repeated since his first use of her.

Unfortunately, the orgasm she'd experienced humping his leg had not been repeated. Suzanne blushed at the thought of it.

His use of her was always rough, always painful, and he seemed to gain the most pleasure from her cries and screams. While she didn't hope for the pleasure to be repeated, she did wonder if there wasn't a way to reduce the amount of pain she was experiencing, at least to give her bottom a rest.

I'm interrupting the western fantasy to post this quote I ran across recently as it's very apropos to my fantasy life.

As she did the dishes, Suzanne mused that she really didn't understand how she'd gotten here. It had been a week since she'd offered her virginity to Chris. Yet, she was still a virgin, and she still slept alone in her own bed. But she was naked nearly all the time and she spent an awful lot of time on her knees too.

Chris hadn't said anymore over the past week, but Suzanne had his cynical words blazed into her head.

She did a lot of work, having made them both much better, thicker beds before the snows came. He never needed to cook anymore, she kept them well-fed, with many meals including meat from the animals he trapped. She'd learned to butcher to his specifications, saving the precious furs that represented his annual income. Her only serious frustration with cooking was the lack of eggs.

But... she realized how little this was. The food she prepared was bought or trapped by him. The beds would not have needed the work if he'd not split his bed in half for her, and he still slept with only one blanket because he'd given his to her. In short, she'd given him nothing.

The scent of coffee woke her and she realized she'd overslept, again missing a chance to be useful.

When she returned from a walk to the bushes, he handed her a cup of coffee. "Breakfast will be ready in a bit," he said, "Meanwhile, why don't you tell me how you came to be in the predicament you were in when we met."

As her rescuer carried her off towards the setting sun, Suzanne began pondering her fate.

She had assumed that she was being rescued, but now she wondered a bit. Was she really being rescued? Or was she simply being stolen from her kidnappers by someone with equally nefarious intentions?

The men ignored her for several hours as they made camp in a hollow. There was a place where fires had obviously been set before, with logs for seating arranged around it. This was probably a regular camping spot for them. A fire was started, water was fetched, and the youngest man began cooking.

As she listened to their conversation, she realized who they were.

She lay across the back of the horse, completely blind to the direction they rode. Terrified at first, her heart rate slowed down after a while, though panicked questions ran through her mind. What did they want from her?

While a virgin, she wasn't naive, she knew what men wanted from women. The question was, was that all they wanted? Would they rape her and discard her, perhaps killing her to prevent her testifying against them? Or would they want a woman for the rest of what men wanted: for cooking, cleaning, mending and chores? She determined to make herself as useful as she could, in hopes of prolonging her life.

The harvest had been huge this year and Suzanne had spent weeks putting it up: canning and dehydrating vegetables, shucking corn, cleaning wheat berries and dried beans, canning and salting the beef and pigs her father had slaughtered, organizing the squash and apples in the root cellar.

Since they needed supplies before winter set in, she was going to town today. After cleaning up from their pancake breakfast, she dressed in her white slip and blouse, pink pinafore matching bonnet, and shiny black ankle boots, feeling festive. This errand was a treat she was looking forward to, a day off the homestead and out of the kitchen. And Father had even said she could buy some of that bolt of cloth she'd had her eye on, with the lovely tiny rose pattern! That would make a gorgeous new dress for her.

The fantasy "The Five Twenties" is now available as a recorded listing on Niteflirt.

This fantasy is going to be very long. Probably 20 or 30 blog posts before I get through it entirely. As such, I will likely post other fantasy scenarios interspersed with this story.

But before I get into this one, I need to clarify the difference between consensual reality and nonconsensual fantasy.

As she sat recovering, I led my naked puppy, firmly encased in his chastity device, back to the table.

I lower the table to waist height, then have him sit on the end of the table, with his feet on the floor. I shackle his ankles to the legs of the table. I place a smother box on the table, then I tell him to lie back, and I close the box around his head and lock it.

Macrophilia is the official name for the GTS fetish: fantasies about giantesses. A related fetish is called microphilia, which is fantasizing about shrinking; having shrunk, all women are then relative giantesses.

I happened to be thinking about this earlier tonight, visiting sites on the topic and thinking of interesting fantasy scenarios...

It seems many cuckolds want to see their wives with a guy with a big dick. I have an announcement to make: my fist is bigger than any dick your wife is ever going to find. ;)

I'd love a scenario where I dominated a couple and cuckold the husband.

(continued from The Five Twenties - The Fourth Twenty)

As I lead him towards her, she is still muttering incoherently. His leash in my left hand, I grab a fistful of her hair with the same hand, then slap her face with my right to get her attention.

She looks at me through her tears and I sternly tell her to pay attention and hear the rules of the final twenty.

(continued from The Five Twenties - The Third Twenty)

I walk back to the bottom of the table, consider her position, then return to the head of the table and shorten the rope attached to her leg cuffs, lifting her ass off the table so she is angled more appropriately for what comes next.

Returning to between her legs, I pick up a rather large butt plug, stretch a condom over it without too much difficulty, and thoroughly lube it up. She squeals as I roughly shove it deep into her ass.

(continued from The Five Twenties - The Second Twenty)

After checking her hands and feet, I move back to the bottom of the table. Because she is still shuddering and sobbing, she doesn't really notice when I slip a disposable latex glove on my right hand, nor when I squirt half a tube of KY on it and spread it around.

(continued from The Five Twenties - The First Twenty")

She remains tightly bound spreadeagle before me and ungagged so I can hear her screams. I move around to the bottom of the bench between her legs and pull a small whip out of my pocket. Although her eyes are watering, I see surprise beneath the tears.

(continued from The Five Twenties - introduction)

I lead her into the dungeon and order her to strip. As she does so, I tell her, "This really won't take long so you'll make it to class just fine. I have five things I will do. I will do each twenty times, which should only take a few minutes for each twenty. This will not be a sensual flogging, this is just a fast use of you because I wish it."

I have very long, convoluted fantasies. I often start a fantasy one night, and continue the story another night, and on and on. They're sort of like serial fantasies.

Fantasies change over time, but this one is an old favorite that keeps coming back. It's a fantasy of inflicting corporal punishment on one slave while a second services me sexually.

Let me explain where this comes from. As a sadist, I get seriously aroused from inflicting pain. But most of the activities that cause pain require full attention in order to do them safely, so I can't let myself "go" sexually.