Bobby & Miss Becky

Bobby and Miss Becky

4.8.12

It is 2:30 in the afternoon here, and I am complying my duties, awaiting Miss Becky's return. It is very much like waiting to be whipped-- an intoxicating cocktail of anticipation, excitement, fear, and dread. My hands tremble when my mind fixes upon what is certain to come. Your eyes shall feast upon the result...

4.8.12

Tonight's torture:

I've been instructed that tonight's is the night-- I will be released from the confines of this cage, BUT ONLY long enough to insert a PrInce's Wand (a diabolical sounding tube) into my urethra, and then it will be locked in, for however long it pleases Miss Becky. The wand is thick and has a ring at its top that secures it snugly under the glans. I have been told this now, several hours before my passage through this new gate of Hell, so that each passing moment will increase anticipation and dread. Would it please your eyes to see evidence of this torture?

In humiliation,

5.8.12

Miss Becky was pleased with the diabolical result-- after the probe was secured, I was made to lie down and bound. She massaged my testes, pubic area, and anus with a vibrator, bringing my locked cock to an stiff state of arousal. As she did so, my cock impaled itself on the thick, unforgiving probe; strained against the curved walls of the cage to become erect, like the man I'm not; and the retaining ring of the cage pulled hard at my sac as my cock struggled valiantly, but vainly, on. Turning to admire her work, Miss Becky muffled my moans by mounting astride my face...without a word, I submitted to her silent command. I immediately went to work, lapping and sucking her to a milky conclusion, as the wand drilled ever deeper into my penis. I was left there, alone and bound, as my shriveling member tried to disgorge the iron spike driven deep inside it, to little avail-- it stayed in until the dawn, when Miss Becky cut the tape and yanked it free. So begins Day 6.

5.8.12

You want me to WHAT??.

...a little tape to hold things in place, and:

8.8.12

Miss Becky is out for a FULL body massage-- inside and out-- and will return momentarily for me to bathe her ravished body with my tongue before she slips into deeply satisfied slumber.

I displeased her earlier in the week and lost all my stimulation privileges, including Twitter and any website that would get me aroused until I learn that I serve only her. I did get to view your Tumbler before my punishment began, and was filled with excitement and shame that my cock is on display to the world... I wonder how many people it has brought to orgasm.

I haven't received the shirt; maybe in tomorrow's post.

Here's hoping your ears are filled with the tortured screams of your bitch, and the warm glow of orgasm lights your cheeks...

11.8.12

What do you suppose... 

Miss Becky will do with these tonight?

12.8.12

Feminised

"The time has come," said Miss Becky, "for you to be with another man. This will be at a time, place, and with a person of my choosing, but I will be there, to look in your eyes and see how much you love being a cock slut, and to hear your pathetic whimpers for mercy as he tears your asshole open. Look at you-- your little man clit is getting hard in that cage, just thinking about it..."

 To that end (being brutally sodomized as my Mistress watches and shouts encouragement to my rapist), I must now wear panties, like those shown here, and keep my legs shaven, and private parts clean.

 Last night, at a theater, Miss Becky kept the image alive by directing my attention to all the male cast's members (...and that's not a typo:), commenting on the bulges in their costumes, and asking how I would like this one or that one to ravage me.

 I know this will happen--Miss Becky does not make idle threats-- and when it does, I will tell you all in a tale to go with your morning coffee: hot, dark; bittersweet; and breath-taking.

12.8.12

Your morning coffee

Miss Becky and I will move in the next few weeks, to a property in a larger city that will give us a greater degree of anonymity and a wider range of prospective, ummm... "lovers". It has a very insidious dingy basement with sturdy timbers with hooks to hang police handcuffs and plenty of open space to wield a flogger.

 In discussing its possibilities, Miss Becky revealed a detail of her plan to transform me from a virtual to a literal bitch: we'll be moved in about the time that these nipple piercings have healed. The beads will be replaced with rings, large enough for a man's fingers to slip into and to pull as he thrusts his engorged penis deep in my bowels. I shuddered when she told me this, and my hand instinctively went to my chest, as if to protect it. I noticed a devious smile play across Miss Becky's lips, like thunderclouds in the afternoon sky.

 I must go now. She is out of her morning shower, and demands (as is our Sunday ritual) to be licked clean and dressed to go out...

13.8.12

“It takes courage to love, but pain through love is the purifying fire which those who love generously know. We all know people who are so much afraid of pain that they shut themselves up like clams in a shell and, giving out nothing, receive nothing and therefore shrink until life is a mere living death.”

― Eleanor Roosevelt

"Tonight, Bobbie, your ass is mine", Miss Becky said in a low tone, devoid of love; devoid of mercy, as she slapped the rubber whip lightly across my bare buttocks. I shuddered with anticipation, as 'tonight' was still hours away, and her playful slap belied the weight of the flogger and its cutting sting. Miss Becky has thick, muscular arms, and one mere lash of a whip in her adept hands, laid on with merciless force, can bring me to torrents of tears and make my legs limp, suspending my body from the cellar beam where I am shackled.

I worshipped her 38D breasts, as is our morning gesture, and muttered the only permitted reply: "As you wish, Miss Becky", hiding my excitement by burying my face deeper in her bosom. Tonight, I knew, I was going to be broken-- whipped and beaten until my will was nothing; nothing but the will of Miss Becky. She revels in her torture, and tells me each day what lies ahead in the dark night, for she knows this will stay deep in my mind and consume all thought. Without consciously thinking, I serve Miss Becky, forgoing all other thought or passion, and wait for the night, when the whip comes down, and I follow, down, down at her feet, her total obedient slave.

13.8.12

The hardest part of the day is waiting for the night, wondering what is to come and whether you can bear it.

The psychological aspect of Miss Becky's torture is to show me the implement, make me feel it ever so briefly,let the idea settle in your mind all the long hours, agonizing over my certain and very painful fate. Today, for instance, it was a light slap on the rump with a rubber whip with many lashes... a Cat-Of-Ninety-Nine tails, if you will. A light slap and a reminder: "...your ass is mine".

 Considering that only two days ago, Miss Becky contemplated aloud that it would please her immensely to watch me taken by a man ("I want you to feel a man go nuts on top of you," were some of her exact words), this long wait has given way to speculation that there is a stiff cock in my ass's immediate future. Such is the stuff of Miss Becky's depravity: as the clock slowly ticks down the minutes, I fantasize what is to be... My cock stirs in its cage, pinching me like crabs; reminding me that even that is not my own, for it, like my mind, is the sole property of Miss Becky.

14.8.12

Red & Sore

Story to follow