I wrote “As Mister’s submissive part I” a long time ago and promised I would share more about my time as Mister’s submissive in the future. It’s hard to remember the details of the relationship after so much time has passed, but reliving it to write this post has been fun.
In my first post about the relationship, I explained some of the rules Mister had for me and what I did in service to him. I did not go into the times we played, so I thought I would focus on that in this post. The first night I spent with him, I kneeled below him at the table when we ate dinner. After eating, I served him an apple martini, made to his specifications. We fooled around a bit but I don’t recall much else of what happened that evening. In the morning, he went to work and gave me a list of things to clean in the house. He came back at lunch and inspected what I had done, expressing how pleased he was with me. Then he took me to his dungeon.
It was appropriately located in his basement, which was small but had just enough room to offer variety in play. At the bottom of the stairs and to the right was a St. Andrews cross with whips hanging on either side. To the left of that was a futon for aftercare and fucking. On the other side of the futon sat “the tower”. It worked just as a wooden horse does, but was constructed a little different. There was a tall wooden pillar with a removable block near the bottom that could fit into different slots depending on the height of the submissive being used on it. Once seated on the tower, the submissive’s ankles could be tied so her knees
pointed down, causing immense pain to her pussy as her weight pushed her harder on to the block. On the far side of the dungeon was a chair that a person could be tied to with legs spread for various types of torture. Mister built all of the furniture with incredible skill. Opposite the BDSM furniture was an armoire which held implements for beating people, items to do electricity play and needle play, hoods, cuffs, sounding instruments and more. The walls were painted red and the floor was covered with mats suitable for wrestling.
When I saw the dungeon for the first time that afternoon, Mister didn’t have a lot of time to play with me so I only got a taste of his sadism. He had me stand facing the St. Andrew’s cross and instructed me to raise my arms up, hold them out at a “v” and place my hands on the top of it. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he got a whip off the wall. There was a pause as I stood there naked and terrified. My pussy started to leak. He cracked the whip in the air so loud I jumped and then he began striking it against my back. Before that night, I had been struck by hands and a belt; both delivering what kinky folks call “thuddy pain” rather than “stingy pain”. Often times, submissives and masochists have a preference in type of pain. The whip that afternoon was my first taste of sharp stingy. It would be much, much later that I realized I prefer thuddy, but will eagerly take stingy to please the person hurting me.
I took the pain and after he left to return to work, I admired the red marks in the long mirror in the dungeon, in the bathroom and later, at home.
Some weekend later, I arrived at Mister’s house after a long week at work. He pushed me against the wall in the kitchen and kissed me hard. He told me to make him an apple martini, a drink for myself and to meet him in the dungeon. When I got there, I was trembling. Mister had a very imposing way about him. He was 6’5’’ and as he often said, his skin color (a dark black- but his race did not add to my fear, personally) and bald head did not help. His Fetlife page showed his list of kinks which were heavier than others and within his pictures were images of very bruised women he played with. He would say he was put off by the fact that people thought he was scary, but I think he secretly liked it.
I kneeled in front of Mister where he sat on the futon. I handed him his martini and sipped mine. He had his laptop in front of him and a tripod with a camera on it facing the St. Andrew’s cross. He asked if I was ready and I nodded and took a big gulp of my drink. He told me to stand in front of the cross and he put boxing glove like things on my hands as the broadcast to his cam show started. He lifted my mitt-covered hands straight above me and 
chained them to a hard point in the ceiling. Then he put a hood over my head and began beating me. He used a baton on my thighs. He had a habit of doing even hits. Four medium-hard hits to my left thigh, two hard ones, three more medium ones and then a whale. He would repeat this on my right thigh. I hated the rhythm of it. I loved the play, but knowing it would end in one extraordinarily hard hit at the end gave me an unpleasant feeling of anticipation that I never ended up shaking in the time I was with him. He beat my breasts with his fists and kicked my cunt with his boot. Then he stood behind me and pushed my face up to his. I liked the feeling of closeness. He started to choke me and after squeezing my throat a few times, I passed out. He must have noticed something because he asked if I was ok. I said, “yes” but found out later that it was the wrong response. He didn’t actually know that he had choked me out and considering I had passed out, I was supposed to say I wasn’t ok. But he didn’t know it at the time, so we continued playing.
He removed the hood and unchained my wrists from the ceiling and pushed me on my belly. He started flogging my back. I love the flogger. Even when it’s incredibly painful, it is my favorite implement. On its own, it probably wouldn’t have caused me to break down, but I was frightened after passing out and after a few more strikes of the flogger, I started crying for the first time in my experience as a bottom and submissive. The play ended then. He gave me a little aftercare- mild snuggling and showed me what the people viewing the cam show were saying in the chat room.
Some weekend later, Mister threw a party. I helped him prep for it and shyly mingled with his guests once things got going. I met a lot of Mister’s friends for the first time that night including a man they called Iron Hands. He was an avid rock climber and his hands had become so tough he earned that name. At some point, I was standing near the basement door when Mister turned to Iron Hands and said, “get her”. Mister grabbed the hair at the back of my head and Iron Hands pushed me to my hands and knees. Mister forced me to crawl down the basement stairs and when I got to the basement, Iron hands started beating me with his hands, sometimes open and sometimes balled up in fists. He beat me for a long time. Sometimes even kicking me. He would ask me questions while he hurt me and my response was always, “I don’t know.” I was so meek in my submissive position, I couldn’t answer him in a more straight forward way. My response always made him laugh before he’d hit me again. After a time, he had me on my belly and he used a chain to hog tie me. Finally, it hit me. This man was in incredibly good shape and he wasn’t going to get worn out before me. I never wanted to call “red” (the universal shout to stop), but I asked him, “Am I going to have to say ‘red’? When will you stop?” and his response was, “I’m not going to run out of energy any time soon.” So I said it and he stopped beating me.
My time with Mister was full of excitement. A lot of parties, a lot of play and devoted service from me. It was relatively short – only three months long, which was as long as my second D/s relationship with Michael (more about that in a future post), but an experience I’ll never forget.
