Sadistic Treatment of a Painslut

As I walked back from the beach, feeling the sand between my freshly painted toes, I felt a calmness overtake me. Outside noise receded as my internal monologue grew louder, demanding action.

With resolve in my heart and mind, I quickened my pace, ready to prepare my dungeon once more. Tonight would be delicious, yet simple, so long as my plaything was obedient. I got to work as soon as I brushed the last grains of sand from the arch of my foot and crossed the threshold to my domain.

——

Hours later, I surveyed my work: The St. Andrew’s cross had been coarsly sanded, the leather shackles inspected and oiled to retain their suppleness. Long ago, I’d attached the whole cross to a frame, all the better to pivot my specimen to my liking. I gave it a whirl and it glided smoothly about, reminding me of a gyroscope.

Everything was perfect, except for my outfit. I hardly felt ready to utilize my strong body while wearing cutoff shorts and a white crop top. So, into my fetish closet I went! My sub was in for a world of pain that night, so I needed an outfit that was aggressive and feminine, yet wouldn’t limit my range of motion.

I had just the thing. I pulled out my favorite sleeveless leather catsuit and carefully laid it on the bed, like a priceless heirloom. I prayed that I could one day pass it onto my daughter. She was already coming into her own as a Dominant under my guidance, but would she choose the path of leather and PVC? It was hard to say.