The scenario was laid out in Maggie’s normal inimitable oblique style in the calling mail . . .Your Mistress will be adorned in an airy costume fit for a Queen. She will be packing you up and taking you on a ritualistic journey to a previously undiscovered world, your Queen knows how important it is to keep her personal possessions well secured whilst travelling there and will play an instrumental part in making sure all parts are well protected. . .Oh boy, was Maggie's costume very airy and certainly fit for a Queen; the skimpiest of bras, the sheerest of expensive nylons, briefs so small as to be non-existent, all in sexy black and all topped off with that most radiant of smiles as my Queen greeted me into her Queendom.
Our journey to the Playroom was certainly some right royal entrance. Following my Queen up the stairs gave me the most delightful view of her magnificent derrière, her cheeks smiling back at her slave with every undulation. I now know why certain parts of a staircase are called risers! My hands were trembling and I really had to force myself not to lean forward and plant a gentle kiss on each perfectly formed orb. I had made the tactical mistake of arriving in my latex clothes; the black calf-length stockings, tee shirt and shorts that I know Maggie likes. With the weather being unusually warm on this autumn afternoon, I was already feeling a little moist when I reached the Palace door, and the breathtaking royal procession to the Playroom did absolutely nothing to help with my rising temperature.
My Queen then confused the hell out of her subject by commanding that I remove her shoes. Now to this slave that was a real quandary, as in all my previous five years of training I have learnt to worship her footwear, and strictly only her footwear. Without any shoes, how could I show my adoration for my Queen? The next command from QM had my quandary resolved in an instant. ‘You must worship my stocking feet today slave’. Oh what a command. I licked and sucked and kissed my Lieges feet, leading to additional privileges as she unclipped her suspenders, allowing her expensive stockings to slip down her legs and over her beautiful toes, instructing her slave to continue my actions on her bare feet.Once I had proved my loyalty with much foot worship, Queen Maggie began sliding her legs back into her luxurious stockings and asked me to help reattach her suspenders. This slave still has plenty to learn, especially when it comes to dressing the monarchy.
The disruption was only temporary and I soon had a dildo strapped to my chest and was secured spread-eagled to the bed for her majesty’s pleasure. What a delicious sight. I could see that superb naked back inches from my face as she rode my chest. When satisfied, Mistress donned her skimpy black panties and proceeded with more royal Queening duties on her slaves rubber face. After which, I of course cleaned up her toys and just smiled.
My Queen likes to grant her subjects their wishes. This one had rather stupidly suggested that he didn’t receive sufficient attention the last time Mistress mounted her slave, when she had kindly been introducing me to a larger strap on for the first time. Not on this occasion, once the right entry angle had been established my Queen gave her loyal subject a right royal seeing to, making sure I could watch the action in the mirror, whilst I knelt in homage on the low punishment throne. For a good long time I was able to relax and enjoy the full length and girth of my Queens dildo, in fact at one point, Maggie lifted her feet off the floor and was flying like wonderwoman whilst still impaling her slave. I wiggled, Maggie giggled and we both had a good laugh.
Back to my Royal Audience; I had been sweating heavily, quite natural when you think what had just happened and Maggie needed me perfectly dry for the next part of my journey. A good towelling first, then a little variety performance by way of dancing around naked in front of the Playroom fan, much to my Queen’s amusement, and I was dry.
I followed my Queen into the White room where a white rubber ceremonial garment was laid out across the couch. My Queen explained how I was to be prepared for passing to the afterlife and I was only allowed one belonging, which was now securely anchored up my bum. I eased into the sleepsack from the side of the bench and received the matching white hood that I had so eulogised about in previous sessions. The hood was zipped tight, the suit zip was drawn, the straps were tightened and I thought, if now is that time for my Queen to send me on my journey across the Styx, I will make the journey happily knowing I am serving my Mistress and my Queen.
A feeling of euphoria and inner peace crept over me, helped by the incense that my Queen encouraged me to inhale, or of course, it could just be that I have promised to my Queen that I will willingly do whatever she wishes, immediately and without hesitation. Actually I would have struggled to even flinch being so seriously immobilised in the thick rubber encasement, even my arms were cleverly secured with internal sleeves inside the bag. Either way I felt totally relaxed with my bondage situation.
Queen Maggie whispered to me, reminding me that my personal object was safely stored inside my back passage ready for the journey. I was instructed that I would also be carrying my Queens possessions with me on my travels and that the time had arrived to perform the ritualistic wrapping of her belongings in readiness for the journey, and I knew she meant her crown jewels.Some unease crept in as I felt the double zip that had been parked around my toes being eased upwards. A little separation to allow access and I could feel the cooler air surround Mistresses cock and balls as she lifted them to the outside of the bodybag.
Mistress advised me that for ritual safe keeping, the Queens possessions (her cock and balls), must be concealed inside a pouch made of animal skin, and as the only animal skin around was my own, then she would create a pouch using my scrotum.
To begin, a massage was completed using cocoa butter; my Queens hands and finger nails pulling and tugging the skin around her property until the cream had sufficiently softened the area, making it more pliable. My scrotum was then stretched over my cock and balls and joined at centre with clamps.
I thought I was to be stitched up as in a previous operation. Well yes and no - this time my Queen was keen to try out a medical skin stapler. The first two staples were practice ones and discarded, but after that around ten staples were deployed in a row, each one becoming easier to apply as she gained in confidence.By the time the last three metal sutures were punched in, my Queen was delighted with the results of her newly honed skills, and through the perforations of my latex hood I could see that wonderful smile associated with a job well done.
From my perspective and probably helped by use of the aromas, I felt very little discomfort and certainly much less than the manual stitching I had received twelve months earlier. I couldn't help myself, and although impossible to get any form of erection, I embarrassed myself with an orgasm.I could feel my liquid creating what I thought was a considerable mess as it squeezed its way out of QM’s finely stitched animal skin pouch. My Queen was surprised and amused by my eruption and quickly recorded the event for posterity.
A little electro-play never hurt anyone, or so my Queen stated, and may even add some excitement to my journey into the afterlife. A tubular electrode was pushed inside, down behind the staples where her cock used to be. To complement and complete the circuit QM put on her electric glove. Believe me when I say that slaves, electrodes, gloves and particularly the metal stitches definitely hurt when joined together, I would have jumped out of my skin if my Queen hadn’t stapled it so tightly together. A power reduction down to 8-10 on the frying scale was definitely called for and even then I was sweating profusely.
To complete this account of my transitional journey, I should warn you that at times my discomfort level hit ten when the stitches were being removed. Unlike normal sutures where that is the less testing part of the operation, using the supplied sterile staple remover hurt like hell; my Queen declared that it should not hurt that much, but there were no instructions in the stapler pack and she would need to fathom out the correct technique.
I took really deep breaths and exhaled as each staple was removed, and at my request my Queen agreed to drop the retrieved staples directly into the stainless steel bowl. A small point, but the soft tinkle of steel on steel reassured me that the pain had been worth the effort and another staple had been removed. Mistress did suggest that she’d leave the staples in situ if it was too painful: I endured the level 10 pain, although the thought of being left in that stitched up state was strangely thrilling. Talking afterwards, I suggested that a double dose of aroma would have been most beneficial to me at that stage!
