90 Days of Suffering & Misery
Mistress Carmen’s sharp heels cut lines in his back. Evan whimpered. He winced at each slow tearing of his flesh.
A month ago, his Mistress asked what he most deeply wanted. He replied, to be your dog, Mistress. He did not mean, her pet. He was already that. He wanted dehumanization, Femdom so degrading and painful that some would call it abuse.
Mistress Carmen had never had a more submissive male. Nor one more addicted to humiliation. Shaming him was difficult. He felt obedience to her commands could never defile him. Yet he craved defilement.
She had cruel fantasies. Flesh and blood Femdom is usually not like fantasies. There are limits. Prudence and humanity restrain darker impulses.
Slave Evan’s needs matched her own dreams. With his consent, she would take risks. But still take care and not break him.
They signed a three-month contract. For ninety days he had no rights. They would not be friends or lovers. He became a subhuman chattel.
Evan quit his job. No one would wonder about scars nor ask why he limped. Mistress was his universe. Now she would be goddess and demoness. He was a plaything. Hers to play with as she wished.
He was no longer Evan. Just slave. Names were superfluous for such a lowly creature.
TPE started late one Friday afternoon.
Mistress Carmen chained his wrists and ankles. The cuffs were tangible symbols of his loss of freedom. The chain was short. He could no longer take full strides. Some chores, like sweeping and mopping, would be more difficult.
She ordered him to move cinder blocks to the outbuilding. He built a rectangle in a corner. Mistress Carmen took him to the outbuilding. She chained his collar to the wall. The short chain kept him on the cinder blocks.
She urinated on him. She left.
He sat on the cinder blocks smelling of her urine. She returned twice. More golden showers. Neither spoke.
Night fell. Trying to sleep on the loose platform of cinder blocks was impossible. If he moved, hoping for comfort, he scratched and scraped himself. Never had night passed so slowly. Restless, miserable the slave cried. Distress and fear mixed with excitement. Mistress reduced him. Now he just a shivering wretch.
Lonely. He had not anticipated the loneliness. Mistress would not kiss or pet him. Scum do not deserve affection.
He thought Mistress Carmen would assign chores and play with him in the basement home dungeon.
Finally, morning came. She unchained the slave. She blasted him with the hose, erasing the filthy odor.
The slave was starving. His Mistress had prepared his breakfast. She pointed to a dog food bowl. The lump of matter was unrecognizable. He lowered his head and took a bite. It was revolting. His Mistress had mixed instant mashed potatoes, liver and bananas. A balanced but disgusting diet.
He balked at taking another bite. She kicked him. Hating every mouthful, he cleaned the bowl.
She picked up the bowl. Pissing in it for a moment, she returned it to the floor. The slave lapped it up. No more coffee, cola or tea, he was Mistress’ pisspot.
She led him to a corner of the laundry room. There was a new attachment point in the wall. She cuffed his wrists and locked the chain in place.
She whipped him. There was no warm-up. She did not gradually increase intensity. The first lash slammed into his back. As did all the rest. Fifteen brutal minutes that made him writhe and shriek. He had never begged for mercy before. Pleas were futile.
She uncuffed him; he collapsed. Kicked, he made himself stand.
The slave looked at his Mistress. She did not smile. None of the old kindness was visible. He trembled. He had asked for this.
She gave him a sheet of paper. A list of chores. He must sweep and mop the house. It was a big house. The house was clean. It was not a slave’s place to debate.
Gathering cleaning supplies, he began working. An hour later, Mistress walked up to him. She slapped his face, laughed and walked away.
When he was cleaning the bathroom, she stopped him. He must lick the toilet lid and bowl clean. As his tongue worked, he flushed with shame. He felt dizzy. He hated this treatment. But it made him tingle.
His dinner was the same horrid mix and more urine.
Tomorrow he would make Mistress Carmen’s breakfast. First she would lock on a bit gag. He would not be able to sneak a taste of the meals he cooked.
Mistress dragged him the home dungeon. She revoked his safeword. The CBT was so intense, he wanted to rip off his genitals.
Before her bedtime, Mistress returned the slave to the cinder blocks.
She kept a notebook at her bedside. Her mind was teeming with new experiences for her slave. She did not want to forget any of them.
So ended the first day. What will happen on day ninety-one?