Chalk and Cheeze

Chalk and Cheeze. That is the only way I can describe the contents of my Christmas session with Mistress Maggie. Mistress gave absolutely nothing away in her calling mail. Not even a glimmer of the delights to come. It was really strange as I was going through my pre-training routine; light lunch shower etc. Normally I tend to focus on some hint and try to work out a possible scenario, mind you, I am always wrong because Maggie knows her property well and produces the exact wording that will confuse her dumb slave. Help! This time, nothing. I can't begin to describe the thoughts that were racing away inside those tiny brain cells.

It was with just a little more excited trepidation that I poked out my finger and rang Mistresses door bell; one ring only and don't be tempted to push it a second time. Mistress, as usual, only kept me waiting a short while before some of my worries were dissipated with the vision of a true Goddess, her figure partially hidden by the front door, yet fully hidden from the innocent gaze of anyone who chanced to be passing. But I got the full stunningly attractive view of Mistress in her tight short black latex dress and wonderfully patterned legwear. This was starting to look a lot like Christmas!
As I followed my owner up the stairway to heaven I did give a smile, as I had noticed two feint talc marks on those otherwise perfect latex covered orbs that I have come to love and admire. Only the slightest of smudges where Mistress must have smoothed her dress, but oh how I wish it had been me that had put them there. A problem indeed: If I tell Mistress about the smudges I run the risk of incurring black marks against me. If I say nothing and Mistress finds out then I am damned for being negligent. Honesty as always is the best policy and Mistress asked me to wipe the marks away with a cloth. No second bidding, on to her gorgeous bottom and give it a gentle polishing. ‘That will be enough now slave’. Admittedly I had been taking my time and Mistress promptly put a stop to my polishing before explaining that I would be rockin around the Christmas tree and helping with tree decorations for the first half of my session.

After suitable worship to Mistresses court shoes my bum was plugged and I was told to climb into my catsuit, and yes, unlike last time when I got myself in a twist, I remembered to do up the crotch zip. A comfortable latex hood was zipped on my head but no gloves were allowed, as they may hamper the delicate handling of the Xmas baubles.

I was given an introduction to the six foot assembled tree before receiving my first task, to untangle the two strings of Christmas lights and test them out. Mistress had made sure I was well insulated from any short circuits by dressing her slave in head to toe rubber uniform, thankfully such protection was not really required because all of the bulbs lit up and ready to go. Round and round the tree I went, decorating it with the first string of lights. My first effort definitely did not fill Mistress with tidings of comfort and joy, the lights were not evenly spread; lots of lights twinkling at the top of the tree and not much happening down the bottom, Mistress suggested she would fix that problem later! For the moment, off came the lights and with Maggie’s help they were soon installed more evenly.

Mistress was keeping a tally of my decorating performance and added another counting mark to my list of errors. What concerned me were the black marks that were already chalked up; accidentally taking the base from its socket, several branches coming unhinged, the occasional bauble that ended up on the floor, things like that, until eventually I was satisfied that the fairy could be mounted on top of the tree, then all that was required was to step back and await approval from my Mistress.

John, Maggie's husband, who had put the tree together and watched with some anxiety as I started to destroy his creation took charge of the final moving and positioning of the tree.

After a final inspection, the tree lights were turned on and Maggie’s face magically lit up with a smile. I think she was pleased with my tree trimming abilities. It felt really natural and festive being able to help my friends in this way and an added privilege to be welcomed to serve in their home. Call it cheesy but I loved that ordinary domestic scene of slave following Mistresses instruction and helping decorate their tree. Even useless slaves have their uses and I was able to rejuvenate some abandoned baubles by taking charge of making new hanging ribbons for them and a place on the Christmas tree.

During my last few sessions I believe I have been a disappointing wimp of a slave, so I was delighted when Mistress wanted a record of her slave having done something right, a photo was to be taken for the archives. It was smiles all round as I posed with my owner in front of our completed yuletide efforts. What was a lot more sinister were the words Mistress whispered to me as I stood grinning like a Cheshire Cat. ‘It's a shame that such a festive occasion as dressing the tree should fall on the same day my dog is to be castrated.’

That did take the glow somewhat off the situation. I have acted as Mistresses pet dog before and I really hoped to hang on to my balls. I gulped and started thinking of excuses why I should retain my testicles but each argument came to and abrupt cul-de-sac with the promise I had made to Maggie, 'To willingly do whatever Mistress asks, immediately and without question.' If that wasn't enough to worry about Mistress casually mentioned that I’d earned myself eight chalk up marks for my clumsy errors.

We took our leave of John, or more precisely, Maggie ordered me to follow her back into her Chambers to begin the operation. On the way upstairs, Maggie mentioned that I would be castrating myself and that thought did not fill me with any sense of calm!

Rule 9 came to mind: Mistress may change her mind at any time. Perhaps Mistress could use rule 9 now and pick something a little more seasonal for dealing with my nuts. Roasting my chestnuts on an open fire, or decking the balls with boughs of holly suddenly seemed very attractive options when compared with a looming castration.

I was relieved, to say the least, when I was spread-eagled to the Playroom bed. Surely an operation of such magnitude would require the clinic, wouldn't it? However, my celebrating was a little premature because Mistress had warned that I would be in a position to castrate myself, and to do that she would be deploying her fearsome stainless steel humbler.

Since my last encounter with her steel humbler, Mistress has gained a lot more confidence and become far more competent at fixing it tightly in place. Maggie straddled my outstretched thighs and firstly applied the weight, pulling on my balls until they could be neatly locked away inside it, more ball pulling and the humbler bar itself was on. All the while Maggie used her fingernails, drawing them along the length of my cock and vulnerably tight balls, I fleetingly thought that she may use her nails as scalpels and actually de-nut me herself. No, her plan was set and she was to continue with the humbler; the scratching and pulling were merely a distraction.

Screws began turning and my balls began moving further and further away. ‘Let me get this machine tight enough then your balls might simply drop off of their own accord’. Now I was beginning to understand how her pet dog would end up de-nutting himself! Maggie seemed to get great delight from her continued scratching and squeezing of my nuts and the formal 'stretching' process hadn’t even begun. I got the odd glimmer of that glorious smile and that wonderfully scary laugh as she cruelly menaced with my balls. I certainly wasn't going to complain as I could see Mistress was simply having a wonderful Christmas time, and if torturing the bollocks off her rubber dog gives her a festive buzz, then so be it.

A good separation between humbler and ball stretcher had been achieved, ‘Ah, more than a good rulers width’ was the size report. Maggie then began applying her ball crusher with its spiked side pressing into my balls and proceeded to tighten those nuts as well. A little more stretching resulted in a little more spiking; an agonising catch 22 predicament for her slave. I wish Maggie would use a metric ruler, they seem far narrower!

From earlier experiences using the metal humbler we have learned that it’s possible to stand me up slowly, or at least have me in a crawl position where I can spread my legs really wide, the whole humbler can then be manoeuvred into its correct, rearward attitude. One slip here and I really could castrate myself, so very careful contorting does it. I think secretly Mistress was pleased that I had managed to get the humbler into the correct position without removing her balls, as I know she gets pleasure from severely torturing them occasionally. Where would the joy be in using a crop on a pair of removed balls in a Petri dish?

Maggie had certainly stepped my humbler training up to a higher level, the position of those screws are instrumental to the obedience of the dog. The spikes were cruelly biting into my balls, the screws were inexorably stretching my balls, every movement had me suffering, but things could be a whole lot worse if I stepped out of line. The good news is that we proved that my guiche piercing and stretched balls can peacefully coexist, well perhaps peacefully is not quite the right word, more I could tolerate their coexistence. And ‘Early next year I think we will fit a more larger squat bar in place of the training guiche’. Excellent, some of my future seems set and it does appear that my attached balls may well play a part in that future. I am very pleased to wear whatever size guiche Mistress decides on and I will wear it with pride.

Meanwhile, back to the here and now. I suddenly grew a tail and pointed ears so I could be led onto the balcony on all fours in true doggy fashion. It was one very steady and very slow walk but still the most difficult walk any pet could take, intensely worrying as well when my balls had been threatened with castration and we were heading towards the clinic! Whew, instead Maggie took a diversion and parked me next to the bannister and tethered me, a bit like you would tether a horse to a hitching post.

It was now that Mistress decided that the chalked up slate would be wiped clean. Not exactly wiped but hit hard, with the crop Mistress was carrying. And no, not across my backside, that was nicely protected underneath .8mm of rubber. No, straight on my aching, overstretched and already painful balls. Maggie had been trying to encourage her pet dog to make appropriate doggy sounds and those eight slaps really had me baying like the Hound of the Baskervilles and whining for her to please stop. I suppose I should consider myself very lucky that Mistress did actually remove the spiked bar before slapping my balls. Be thankful for small mercies. I think the stainless steel bowl was to catch my balls in the event of an accidental removal. I did say Mistress is really thoughtful towards her slaves.

I cannot stress enough how much relief it was to have the humbler finally removed. As I lay back on the rubber bed Mistress teased my cock with a little gentle stroking treatment. Despite my urgent desire to have relief as we were dressing the tree, now I was offered the opportunity, I just froze. My balls and my mind were in such disarray with the near death de-balling experience that I disgraced myself again and could not perform as ordered. What was more worrying, Mistress said we may need to re-address the castration as clearly the balls are not a lot of use attached, there was certainly a mention of that damned stapler making its reappearance some time in the new year.

Despite suggestions of further operations, I wouldn't have it any other way with Mistress Maggie. After all, a promise is a promise and she is Mistress of all she surveys and I hope you all have had a merry Christmas. I have already received my presents from Maggie.

The Sin Of Omission

The sin of omission carries with it the same penalty as actually committing the sin. Either way, Mistress Maggie had found out that I had deceived her during my last session, by letting the air out of the inflatable gag she had strapped on me without her consent. Maggie had made the decision to reprimand her slave; touching Mistresses property is not a slaves prerogative and asking her permission is always the right thing to do. When Mistress asked me the direct question ‘Did you let your gag down?’ I had to confess as I could not lie, and I fully deserved the 10 cane strokes that she prescribed for my stupidity. 

Mistress had greeted me at the door to the Chambers in head to toe tight fitting latex and the longest pair of black patent boots I had ever seen, stopping only a couple of centimetres short of her rather perfect latex covered derrière. I, for my part, had got into the latex spirit and was attired in my latex tee-shirt and shorts underneath my street clothes and, for the first time a pair of black latex gloves. Wearing the latex gloves as I walked down the street actually had me feeling rather daring, but I needn’t have been concerned, it was cold and raining and perfectly natural weather to be wearing shiny gloves. Mistress didn’t believe my luxury latex was suitable attire for a slave who deserved her cane and that a bare ass was more apt. I was sent to the bathroom with instruction to strip down, to return in only socks, gloves and collar.

Once again I was bent low presenting myself before my Mistress, awaiting the signal to put my tongue on her boot. I can only say that my obligatory footwear worship was a little overshadowed by Mistress announcing that worship would be in two parts, with the punishment that I had earned being sandwiched in-between. I put that behind me and set to work on those very long, very shiny and very tasty boots but that was only a short two minute taster, a quick lick and then over Maggie's knee for a suitable 'warm up'. It is a wonderful sensation being naked, face down, over Mistresses latex covered thighs, having your arse warmed up through spanking; the flat of her hand beating down on my ass cheeks followed by the same with her rubber soled slipper. By the time Maggie had completed the warm-up I was starting to feel that characteristic ache and warmth across my buttocks, pleased also that I had endured the lengthy spanking as a prerequisite to the caning, and oh that secret feeling of pleasure derived from being so close to Mistress - and naked to boot!

Out came the whipping horse and I was strapped down lengthways along it. Mistress had taken delivery of my new butt-plug, and with me nicely secured in the perfect uncompromising position she was keen to try it for size. ‘OK slave, lets find out which is more uncomfortable, the cane or the plug. Oh yes, and you can wear the gag that got you into trouble and you will be drugged so you cannot argue’. The plug is red and BIG!

A rubber hood was zipped on my head and the aroma inhaler system was wheeled into the room, when Maggie placed the anaesthetic mask over my nose I was to take several whiffs of the fresh aroma. Lots and lots of lube, but try as we might the little red bugger was just a bit big. Maggie wasn't going to force it and an intermediate plug was used as a stopgap. The 'big red' was put to one side until my anal muscles are ready to accept its girth; not long I hope.

The offending inflatable gag was now filling up my mouth and Maggie picking up her cane. ‘Ten strokes with a senior cane for you’, she announced. There was no way I could meddle with the gag this time; Mistress had it installed as it ought to be - in a place and fashion that pleased HER as I took the ten punishing strokes. Each time the cane came down I thought hard that I deserved the stripe and that helped steel my resolve. 

Mistress was in teaching mode and insisted my bad spelling should be improved before I could be released from the horse. My gag was removed though, so I could be clearly heard practising the words I frequently get wrong. The spelling lesson was reinforced by some nice thwacks with the rubber soled slipper, as a gentle reminder that: 'waist’ is the rather large girth at my midriff and 'waste' represents items that are no longer required; today is not hyphenated to become to-day, and I am a slave not a salve. I think I can spell these now and hope Maggie was satisfied with the way I willingly accepted all of her corrective measures.

It is best to learn quick. Five years ago it took two lessons for me to learn to spell apologise, the consequences were very painful. I shall never forget the lesson: Only one ‘p’ in apologise.

Reminder to self: Make sure the crotch zip of the catsuit is closed.

In my eagerness to don my 0.8mm armoured rubber catsuit, to provide at least some protection from any further bum stripes, I was in the suit like the proverbial rat up a drainpipe. Unfortunately, when it came to closing the zip my new guiche acted as a bit of an obstacle, try as I might I could not zip up past my exposed cock and balls. No good, I had to concede and just like a baby had to beg Maggie to help me get dressed. More proof that a poor slave needs an exceptional Mistress to keep them in order. Anyway, next time, zip closed before insertion!

Once safely installed, I did get to complete the worship of those beautiful boots, and lots of it. It took a long time to cover both boots with licks and kisses as Maggie changed her pose to allow me full access to their full length, sometimes she was sitting and sometimes standing and giving me directions so that no part of her boots was untouched. Long slow licks and kisses all the way to the top of Mistresses thigh-high boots and back down the other side. Strangely, I couldn't feel the ten stripes I had taken earlier; attending to my boot tasks I had given me much more important things to concentrate on. Those thigh boots are exquisite. . .

It couldn't last and Mistress wanted some fun party games, after all, Christmas was approaching fast and what is a good party without a game of forfeit; you get a treat provided you are willing to pay the price.

Long white Playroom ropes tied my ankles and wrists, I could hop around and move my wrists but, ropes tied by an expert can be comfy yet 100% secure, and Mistress is an expert! The relative freedom wasn't to last, the novel application of the spreader bar really limited my movement, to a point where I could only struggle around on the Playroom rug. Maggie generously provided her slave with a leather muzzle which she anchored to the iron spreader, along with my wrists and ankles. Ah Christmas, once more trussed up like a turkey. Where would any slave worth his (considerable) weight be without a perfect Mistress ready to play forfeit.

The prize.’You will have my permission to worship your latex Mistress and all her curves - would you like to do that? There will be forfeits!  No brainer. The chance to worship Mistress, latex and all, even trussed as I was, I would forfeit anything for my Mistress.

Of course I had to take the punishment before the prize. The first prize and forfeit; nipple clamps in exchange for bottom worship. Fair enough and agreed despite the fact the clamps were little bastards. I am sure Mistress obtains the most innocuous yet most evil clamps for her slave, and doesn’t hurry to take them off when I have completed my part of the bargain. I even managed to struggle into a semi-seated position to help my Mistress fulfil her part of the game. Oh the things I do to help my Mistress.

‘No doubt you would love to worship my latex breasts slave, but are you prepared for the costs?’  Mistress has the most superb physique and when she is tightly enclosed in latex it adds that little flavour to die for. ‘Yes please Mistress. No matter what costs. . .’ 

I thought it strange that Mistress announced a slight delay as she disappeared to bring some sterile shoes? Moments later she was seated beside me putting her high heels on and telling me my next forfeit. ‘You must have your little cock invaded before you can worship my breasts’. Oh well, by this time my latex hood had slithered round and I was almost blind. If Mistress gets turned on by wearing high-heels whilst stuffing her cock with something rather nice, who am I to complain? One thing is for certain, the feeling of a long hard object entering your cock and bossing it about is not a sensation that warrants a complaint, well not for this slave anyway. 

It was only afterwards when I saw this photo that I really appreciated what had actually been inserted into Maggie's cock. It adds a new meaning to being 'stuck with a stiletto'! but it’s a good job the Cuban heeled boots stayed firmly in the cupboard!

The third and final prize was latex thigh worship. By this time my head was nodding agreement to anything Mistress declared as the forfeit. It started out well with a pair of Mistresses tights stretched over my head. I could swear I could detect essence of Mistress as the gusset snuggled in place over my mouth and nose. Hmmm. ‘I am going to immobilise your head with gaffer tape. Blue tape alright slave?’ Blue tape it was and blue gaffer came out from behind the curtain. It produces a really strange sound as the tight tape zips across your ears, a really LOUD tearing sound as the tape unrolls. On, on, on it went. A strip here, another strip there, gentle, smoothing hands every now and then to produce a smooth finished head and then. . . bollocks. The taping was so effective, I couldn't move my head. How the hell was I to worship Mistresses thighs.

In fairness to Mistress she did try and fulfil her part of the game. She straddled me from the rear and wrapped her legs around my neck where I could certainly feel the warmth of her thighs. She even approached my taped head from the front and if I hadn't been so immobilized I’m sure I would have received my prize. I mentioned the problem to Maggie and that I thought it a little unfair when I was finally cut out and . . .  she laughed and laughed!

My mouth was doing a fine job of getting me into trouble today, only an ungrateful slave would make such a stupid comment about fairness. Mistress reminded me that she had kindly left my hands available to caress her latex clad thighs, and if she’d known that I was not going to use them properly she would have wrapped those up in blue tape as well. Quite obviously I needed my mouth rinsing out.

The toilet box was duly manoeuvred into the centre of the room. ‘Head in the tank. Face up slave’ and my neck was fitted into the neck hole. When the seat was closed I had time to contemplate just how lucky a slave I was. I heard zips and Mistress took her place on the toilet, she was in her thigh high boots again and pressing her heels into my nipples. Ahh, the pain!! A pain which reliably makes her slave open his mouth. ’Nice and wide and keep it open’.

Mistress opened the floodgates and all her piss was streaming down on my face, but her crotch zip provided only a narrow gap for her nectar to flow through and it was squirting in all directions, onto my face, in my eyes and well everywhere. I was told in no uncertain terms not to be such a useless slave and catch the valuable fluids like a regular toilet. A few adjustments to the zips and once again Mistress was nicely seated, with her menacing boots operating my mouth buttons again. A much steadier stream was directed into my eager mouth this time. I definitely had a very good rinsing and my thirst quenched with her tasty golden shower.

Mistress was a little pissed off with her ungainly slave and insisted that I clean up the mess that I had allowed to accumulate inside the Toilet Box. And finally, I think I did something right. I sucked, slurped and licked up every last drop of nectar that had settled behind my head. Mind you I had to take a fair beating with a riding crop while I was doing it. I even waited for the last few drops to drip from my saturated scalp and once I was confident that my drinking and cleaning was complete, I sat up with a satisfied and very satiated smile on my face.

In the mail accompanying the blog pictures I was really pleased to read the following comment from Maggie  ‘. . . slave was a useless toilet but surprisingly did a great job of sucking up every drop . . .’

I was encouraged to shower afterwards and although I really enjoy being covered in Mistress Maggie’s fluids, it was wise not to return home wearing her special scent.

It was unreal for me to expect the prize of latex thigh worship, after all a slave is there to serve and provide enjoyment; but I can dream. And I did get a delicious mince pie because it is December. A bit of a tradition developing here I think.