Dominatrice Dominatrix Paris

A delicious wait

I should point out that there were a few weeks between our first meeting via email and video and this first "real" encounter. In the meantime, we set the duration of the session (a six-hour afternoon) and flexibly defined its content (mostly bondage with bdsm activities); I had sent Madame a sort of catalog (a little laborious to read, I'm afraid) of my rather numerous and eclectic preferences, and it was understood that she would act as she saw fit. It was, I think, an excellent way of going about things, with Madame having all the freedom of movement and I all the surprise (and we all know that surprise is the source of pleasure) and having only to obey like a gentle submissive.

This is my first visit to Madame. There's a first climb along her street. The perspective is beautiful, with the street sloping gently upwards, then steeply downwards before reaching a flat area. Then a second climb to the top of her building, where her dungeon is located.

Madame is the most charming of women, as I've already said. She's also a great Dominatrix; she has the imagination, the determination, the intuition and psychology, and the practical know-how. She also has the talent to alternate styles and attitudes with the utmost naturalness, and one always feels perfectly at ease with her. She's also a sincere woman who naturally elicits sympathy.

In short, I'm ecstatic to be with her on this day and in delicious anticipation of what's to come. Yes, it's going to be wonderful.

First, shower, nudity, brief wait on your knees, slave collar and transfer to the Justice Room. The accessories are in place, it's functional, painted white, well lit yet with no prying eyes to fear thanks to the floor and elevated geographical position. Soothing background music. You feel at ease.

Sequences follow one after the other, without a script. Madame already knows me from our email exchanges, and she knows a lot about my turn-ons.

Madame places me upright in an X shape, with my arms spread above my head and my legs spread wide by a bar at my ankles. It's all very tight, so there's no room for movement. Then a head harness that combines a nose hook and two lip spreader hooks, all tightly fitted; I can't see myself well, but I have all the sensations of stretching and discomfort to speak (although it's not a real gag) and I feel the humiliation of being momentarily disfigured (like a little pig with a snub nose and the sinister smile of one who has no lips). Madame puts clamps on me, then takes them off and repeatedly hits my left nipple with a beautiful flat, slightly curved wooden ferule; the blows aren't very strong but the repetition creates pain. I like it a lot. Now I wonder what it would have been like if she'd hit my bottom like that. Then Madame unties me; I have the impression that it was too short, so good it was; this impression will be renewed several times during the day.

Then I lie on my back on the bench-like ceiling of the cage, legs bent and arms at my sides. This is a position for receiving clamps all over, on the nipples, testicles, tongue (much appreciated) and for a bit of pegging. 

Before lunch, installation on the cross of dear Saint André (a holy traveler whose last moments we only know, thanks to the blessings of this cross); ties at wrists, ankles, waist, elbows, knees and rubber ball gag (dear gag!). This is serious bondage. Madame gives me the hammer, which is an excellent introduction. Then Madame takes her "single tail" and sprays my back and buttocks with the characteristic little burns. We don't know each other very well yet, and I recognize the need for caution when handling the whip, which can otherwise hurt like hell. In this case, Madame doesn't touch my limits, which I place a little further away, where the whip produces beautiful criss-crossing red streaks and scratches. Then Madame leaves me in my bonds and goes off to check on lunch.

This lunch was to be a comical episode of choice, an intense laugh the likes of which is rare at the adult table. It had been a long time since I'd had any fun with food. I'd brought some suchis and rolls; Madame untied them and mixed everything together. Then she made me take a Chinese chopstick in each hand (chopsticks that reminded me of another game, but we'll come back to that) and fixed it with tape, large quantities of tape that imprisoned each hand so that, with my fingers immobilized, I could only use the chopsticks. That's the funny part, because it's almost impossible to eat like that. I think there was also some liquid to drink, maybe coffee. In short, it was a wonderful meal.

After lunch, Madame gets me into her cage, on all fours and backwards; she traps my neck in the indentation of the bars so that my head is on the outside; she fixes my wrists together to the cage floor and shoves a spectacular steel gag into my mouth, keeping my jaws apart and immobilizing my tongue. Just as I'm wondering what could be happening to me in this position, where I feel protected by the cage's bars and ceiling, I feel a streak of fire run down my back and start to scream (but: "no screaming!"I try to identify the terrifying pain that insinuates itself everywhere, like a red-hot awl, like a burning metal pencil, or like the sharp points of an electrified roulette wheel. I protest with incomprehensible grunts through the gag, I struggle, my borborygms take on a pleading tone, but my Sublime Mistress has a hardened character and a taste for exploring everyone's limits and doesn't allow herself to be softened by the simperings of a submissive. I catch a glimpse of a screen displaying 8 or 9, then 10 and a little more (and Madame assures me - which I still find hard to believe - that the measurement goes up to 80 - or did I mishear?). The rollers continue on their way and reach the soles of my feet, causing me to panic once again and attempt to flee; but suddenly a new sensation takes over, as my Divine Mistress has gone from electricity to bastinado, repetitive and painful blows to the soles of my feet with a fine badine, which hurts quite a bit. These are the moments one prefers afterwards; it's at intense moments, like this test of limits, that the pleasure of submission is discovered and I'm very happy and grateful to Madame for treating me like this. Madame seems to be enjoying herself immensely, her pleasure at seeing my reactions is obvious; mentally replaying the film of these events, I feel only too happy to have perhaps pleased her a little, and I cherish this episode all the more.

And then it stops, and we move on.

Now Madame introduces me to her spanking bench (I call it that). It's a padded piece of furniture that allows you to adopt a comfortable position while giving Madame access to the whole of the back of your body. This bench has the added feature of a wooden straitjacket that traps the neck and wrists. Madame straps me firmly by the back, loins, thighs and legs, imprisons my neck and shackles my wrists from the front. This is the spanking and desecration position. Madame gags me and then goes to administer a bit of single-tail whipping and, above all, a pretty good caning; to be corrected by my Divine Mistress, bound like this, drooling into my gag, with no possibility of escape, is a submissive's dream. That Madame should take the matter seriously, alternating between different qualities of cane - soft at first, then a little stiffer - striking hard enough to leave bruises symmetrically located in the center of each buttock, administering a sufficient number of blows for the punishment to imprint itself on my submissive memory, gave me great pleasure. Once again, my limits were being tested and, once again, I was convinced that I wanted to continue my submissive journey with Madame. In the evening, I noticed the bruises and felt a great surge of gratitude for Madame; the bruises disappeared completely in just under a week.

In the next step, Madame slips on an "arm-binder" glove that pulls the whole arm together, from the wrists and hands, which are completely imprisoned, to above the elbows, which are enveloped in the glove, and down to the shoulders, which are strapped to the glove by tightly-fitting straps. Unlike the straitjacket, the glove is not a promise of comfort and security, but rather a (pleasant) threat, as it preludes strappado immobilization. The "strappado" is the estrapade, a very old practice of the Inquisition interrogations, and also a current punishment in the armies of the 17th century; the victim was bound with the arms behind the back and suspended by the wrists, causing punitive pain to the shoulders; It is said that, to spice up the torture, the man was suspended high enough, then the rope was released so that he fell one or two meters, and he was caught before he hit the ground, causing a dislocating shock to his arms and shoulders. Madame had no intention of treating me this way, so she made me kneel and pulled my arms towards the ceiling, forcing me to bend forward. But my knees have suffered from my stay in the cage (at least that's how I explain it to myself) and I cry out for mercy (having resisted more just a short time before). I still blame myself for this weakness.

Finally, and this is (alas) the last stage of this day, Madame plans a moment of bondage and sensory isolation in the "sleep-sack". I really like this sort of canvas or leather dungeon in which all movement is impossible, yet the position is comfortable, and enough to make it possible to fall asleep. Sensory isolation is provided by a beautiful double-wrapped hood, laced behind the head and fastened with a strong zip at the front; the hood is made of thick leather and also buckles around the neck. All in all, a very effective binding system. Madame only closes the hood halfway, blinding me completely and muffling sound halfway, but leaving the lower part of my face uncovered. I don't know how long I stayed in the sleep-sack, because I think I fell asleep very quickly, and remember it as a sort of long, pleasant reverie, interspersed with startled awakenings and short bouts of consciousness.

And then everything comes to an end. Madame releases me, gently helps me back into the real world, and we say goodbye.

Or rather "au revoir". The memory of Madame now accompanies many of my thoughts. Writing this report has revived these recent memories and reminded me of the happiness of being hers.

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