| Mistress Lubyanka | |
| A slave in exile by Henry | |
| About me |
I am sitting at the end
of a small wooden pier, looking at the royal blue waters of the To me the definition of paradise has evolved into…a rainy afternoon in a distant place…at the feet and service of my Soviet Mistress. To be more precise I should say Russian Mistress, it is just that I find the term Soviet still rather appealing as it reminds me of things that fascinated me all my life like the powerful Soviet security agency and the mighty Soviet military machine. Equally, I always had the idea - rightly or wrongly - that Soviet women apart from being very beautiful, are cold, tough and ruthless. This fitted well my fantasy figure of a dominant woman - of a Soviet Mistress. Like a prisoner in exile I cannot help but fantasize every moment of my pathetic boring life, the next time I will be granted permission to see her. She rarely allows me to visit her and give me the opportunity to be at her service, and I suppose this is one more reason why I cannot stop thinking about her and what she has on her mind. Whenever she feels like it, she gives me a little attention, a little oxygen. However, this time it has been so long…. Has she forgotten about my existence? Had my devotion to her not been up to her high standards? Is she not happy with all the kinds of tests she put me through to prove that I am worthy of her time? Countless times every day I mistakenly hear my phone receiving a call or a message while I am waiting for some kind of news, some new instructions, some impossible new task ….but nothing…. My sanity lies very finely balanced. Frequently I want to shout as loud as I can my safe word hoping that she will hear and stop what she is doing to me as I have reached my hard limits. However, she is thousands of miles away and without a following wind I doubt if she will hear me… Off course being pre-occupied with all these thoughts 24/7 and with her being a central focus of my life, I tend to forget that she lives an extremely busy life and the fact that she is surrounded by creatures like myself ready and willing to fulfil all her needs and consider that a privilege. Whatever the case her last instructions to me were very clear, “You are not to try to contact me in any way. You will be notified if and when you are needed”. The “when” I think I can still just about bear ….It is the word “if” that is driving me insane. Having experienced a few times before her fury when I tried to behave in a spontaneous way, thinking in my naivety that I was going to please her or in the beginning when I was caught lying about my activities, I have no option but to wait… day after day, week after week month after month. As a pain lover, it is not her physical punishments I fear …. Though she could easily break me in two if she chose to, it is the mental punishments that make me humble in front of her. Our last meeting, still so vivid in my mind was when I was instructed to fly out to her for a couple of days to catch up on my training. Having the misfortune to arrive late, she locked me up in a black metal cage and ignored me for the whole of my stay, releasing me just in time not to miss my flight back home. She did not even speak to me. I read that this is normal in D/S relations but whatever the case that was the worst punishment of my life and one I do not wish to live through again. Being a textbook case of a submissive and - I suppose - she, having dealt with so many other similar submissive specimens before me, she knows only too well that she has me in her purse, in her pocket and she can take me out and play with me whenever she feels bored and in the next minute toss me aside. I feel so weak and so expendable but strangely enough that is part of what makes this bizarre relation worthwhile. In the dull years prior to the day our paths crossed, I had the opportunity to make some in-depth research into the vague ideas that were always in my head about relations based on Domination and Submission and found that a whole such world existed practicing what the literature referred to as BDSM which for me was only fantasy. It was a shocking time, a shocking realisation that I had spent half of my life in pointless relationships, which resulted in boredom after the first week …something for which I had no real explanation. It was on a summer’s day such as this, in August that I first met her couple of years ago. Most weekends in the summer I visit this bay not far from my small home city. Like any ordinary weekend the people started pilling up on the beach in search for some relief from the heat. For some reason my eye caught her appearance on the beach immediately, close to mid-day, just about the time when I usually pack to go home. She was wearing a fashionable woodland pattern camouflage bikini with a co-ordinate see-through material wrapped around her waist. She was on a route along the wooden pathways that run along the sandy beach on her way towards a sun bed and an umbrella. I was expecting her to pass close to me but as she approached, by a reflex action, my eyes looked down… I suppose because I am shy but also because it puts me in the most appropriate position to look at her feet - the other of my life’s passions. Years of observing female feet and shoes gave me the full picture in an instant: She was wearing white strappy high heel sandals – not common for a day on the beach - but which to my perverted mind denoted a certain attitude. The ankle straps were loose. Her toenails were painted dark red - what one might call a Marlboro red. Her foot was slim - I made it a size 37 - with well-shaped long toes, like you can sometimes see on ancient statues, the second toe was somewhat longer than the first one something that I find makes the female foot more erotic and gives it a better symmetrical balance. As she sat down her phone must have rang. She started to talk and at the same time she crossed her legs and began to dangle her shoe up and down and sideways in a rhythmic manner. I moved forward taking a defensive position closer to her, pretending to be preparing to occupy the spot just behind her. She had lovely high arches that were especially pronounced by the shape of her shoe and the height of the heel - now partly digging in the sand - and her soles looked so smooth and soft. There was a very interesting and extremely sexy colour contrast between the top of her foot and toes - which had a beautiful dark tan - and the soles, which were pale, and a little pink. I could not help but stare. As her dangling became more intense and her shoe was merely hanging by her toes ready to drop, it was as if I was hypnotized. It looked like I was observing her feet through a hollow tube or a telescope and I could see nothing else around me. I do not know how long this lasted but at some stage I heard the word, “Hello”…twice .To my great surprise her conversation on the phone had ended and she was now looking at me drooling at the sight of her feet. “Do you find something interesting about my feet?” she asked. Lacking the required amount of intelligence the best I could come up with was, “No, I am very sorry” and I turned to go away… I had no time to take another step and she carried on, now in a more commanding voice: “Perhaps you should make yourself useful and get me a glass of cold sparkling water.” I thought that she spoke excellent English but in the word “cold”, I was very intrigued to detect a foreign accent. I secretly prayed it to be a Russian accent and as it turned out my prayers were answered. By now, there was something I was dying to see… I wanted to see her eyes because through them I was hoping to be able to see the other quality I admire in a woman - her superiority, her dominance, what I have been fantasying about in women all my life. As if she was reading my mind or by using female intuition, she raised her sunglasses and looked at me. I melted. In the mere 3 seconds I managed to look at her and before my eyes looked down at the ground out of a mixture of intimidation and shame, I could see in her eyes a confident, superior woman, a woman with spirit, a…… dominant woman. I was beginning to get my brain to resume its normal basic functions and move towards the bar for her drink when she added: “And listen…I don’t want to see you walking on the wooden paths. Take the long route across the sand, it will be nice and hot at this time of day, it will do your feet good. And don’t you dare run; I want to see you walk slowly”. Her instructions gave me an instant erection and having played this pain game before – but not under supervision - I braced myself and started walking on the sand. On a day like this the sun and, of course, the sand are burning hot. I could just about stand it in the beginning but slowly it became intolerable and the way to the bar seemed endless. I took small steps leaving each foot in the sand as short a time as possible but the relentless repetition of this exercise almost made me cry out in agony. I could feel my feet burning in the sand and I was desperate for relief…in the last 20 yards or so I could not help it but run. I ordered and paid for her drink and having partly recovered from the torment she put me through I looked to see if she was still following my actions. She seemed to be looking in my direction so I assumed that I was being closely monitored. I started the agonising trip back through the sand. This time though I could not run without spilling her drink and I did not want to make a complete fool of myself. After negotiating another 100 yards of dry burning sand and as I reached the small shaded area under her parasol, she turned to me in a sarcastic manner and said, “Do you call yourself a man? Was that too much for you?” She was clearly not expecting an answer. Her next command came swiftly: ”Put the drink down and find me a cigarette lighter.” I took a yellow disposable lighter from my pocket. She was not impressed and said, “Is that the best you can do, show me that it works. I lit the lighter and as I was ready to put it down she said, “No, no, no… keep that lighter burning… I will show you a magic trick. Turn the lighter upside down and count slowly to ten.” I started to count taking care not be burn my fingers …but I could not understand what was on her mind. “Now put it out and touch the tip of the lighter on your left forearm,” she added. Following her instructions and without thinking about it I touched the metal tip of the lighter on my skin. At the same time, she grabbed my wrist to make sure I kept it firmly in place. A sizzling sound followed and a sharp instant pain of burning. The metal quickly cooled on my skin and as she freed my hand, I lifted it to reveal a small neat burn in the form of a horseshoe on my forearm. The colour of the burn was initially yellowish and the skin all round it dark pink. “Let me see that, ”she said with great interest. I stretched my arm towards her. She smiled and seemed satisfied, “Good, that will do for now. I am not good with faces so I can distinguish you easily with your new brand”. Anyhow, all my loyal subjects carry my mark in one way or another. You should wear that with pride too. It won’t last for more than a few weeks but one day who knows, you may be ready to receive a proper ‘kiss of fire’. Just then a number of other ladies appeared - her friends, I assumed. She turned to me and said,” Now leave, you will come to my house at eight o’clock this evening. If by any chance you are late don’t bother to come at all.” She handed me a small hand written piece of paper and she turned to talk to her friends. Despite the fact that I had rehearsed for such a meeting in my mind for years, I was overwhelmed with what had actually happed. Maybe because deep down I had given up hope that meeting a Mistress where I live was actually possible. I went home in quite a state. I was feeling dizzy from the sun or more likely from what this woman had done to me and more importantly, what she had on her mind. The burn on my arm had become all blistery by this time but maintained the horseshoe shape. It was not actually painful but it looked quite bad. I kept examining it and I felt proud. It was as if I had received a promotion in the ranks and that was my insignia so that everybody around could see. I tried to evaluate the tactical situation but I could not focus on anything, I just wanted time to fly so I could see her again. However, I remember that the wait until the evening was long and emotionally draining. When I arrived at the address, it was a few minutes before eight. It was a quiet road near the sea front with five or six detached houses next to each other. I waited for some time and I rang the bell of the house with the number one as she had directed me to do. She spoke to me via the entry phone and told me to wait. After what I suspect was 5 minutes but seemed like an eternity, she came to the door. She was still wearing the same outfit as that she wore on the beach and the same shoes. I was invited in. It was quite a large house with white marble floors throughout. Most of the furniture inside was covered with white sheets and there were several boxes here and there, as if someone was moving in or out. After closing the front door, she turned to me in a strict tone and said, “My name is Marina. You will off course call me Mistress Marina or just plain Mistress at all times when you are with me or when you talk to me on the phone”. If you prefer Russian - and I have a feeling you will soon - the formal way to address a lady is G a s p a z h a…” “And you are…?” I tried to respond but she did not let me finish. “Shut up,” she said. “Your name is not important .You are a slave and that is how you will be referred to.” Whenever I ask you the question k t o h t i? meaning “who are you” you will always reply y a r a p which means you are a slave… is that clear?” I tried to recall the Russian word but could not . “Yes Mistress Marina,” I replied. “Now slave… there are lots of things you need to learn and I see you are a peasant with no manners but we will deal with that in due course. First, there is a basic task that you will have to learn…my feet need a good clean. You will be pleased to know that after the beach, I was walking barefoot in the house and garden and my feet are very dusty, dirty in fact. You will use just your mouth for this task. Get down on your knees in front of that table”. Without hesitation, I sank to my knees. She went round over 3-4 steps where the floor was raised and walked straight onto the table. Grabbing a chair with her left hand, she placed it on the table and sat down high up like a queen on a throne. At this kneeling position, my eyes were almost level with her ankles. Now, once again I had the chance to see a close up of her feet in those white high-heel sandals. They were really dirty all over - and I suppose on the soles with an accumulation of sand here and there especially between the toes and around her ankles. Bits of dried grass were also stuck to them in places. She crossed her legs and let her shoe dangle to expose her sole while keeping her toes in the shoe. It was a remarkable sight that only a foot lover could appreciate. “Now slave…..look up and start moving your tongue along my sole and all around my foot…and take care not to drop my shoe. Until I am satisfied I do not want to see your tongue go back in your mouth. Make sure it is fully extended too,” she said. I started to lick her feet. They tasted really salty from the dried sea-water and the dirt and dust on her soles quickly filled my mouth and made it dry .The grains of sand were really irritating in my mouth as were the bits of grass. She made me continue with this procedure for about ten minutes on each foot. I started feeling pain at the base of my tongue and my knees were sore from the hard floor. She did not seem to care, she just sat there holding a glass of water or some clear drink. She did not speak and I was hoping that I was doing the job that was expected of me. After a few more minutes, she said, “I can feel your mouth is dry. That is no good.” Giving no indication as to what she was going to do next, she turned her head had a sip from her drink and spat it right down with the mixture of her drink and saliva landing on the lower part of her leg running down along the foot and into her toes. “Take that spit with your tongue and consider yourself very lucky,” she said… I do not know what effect she thought this was having on me but it was the most erotic thing anyone has done to me – something that she quickly realised and made me beg for it. She spit on her leg a number of times with remarkable precision and like a thirsty animal I licked it off. Suddenly she said, “Now stop. I want you to unzip your trousers and take out your pathetic toy.” I felt some embarrassment but once again I found myself following her instructions without a second thought. She now got up from the chair and stood up sideways on the table. She was in front of me like a giant goddess. ” Now stand up and listen to me very carefully...I want you to put that pathetic thing of yours between my shoe and the sole of my foot. I want to step on it, to crush it inside my shoe”. She lifted her foot keeping her toes in the shoe and I proceeded to put my cock in the space between her high-heeled shoe and her foot. She immediately lowered her sole to step on me. I had a very hard erection so this action made it very painful. I thought that my cock would burst as she increased the pressure. I did not know how far she would go with this and by instinct I put my hands on her legs around her calve muscles… I suppose to remind her that I was still there. “How dare you touch me without permission!” Put your hands at the back of your head and keep them there!” She shouted. She continued to crush me and to move her foot slightly from side to side too as if she wanted to flatten my cock completely. At certain times, the pain was so intense that I cried out aloud. However, she took no notice. After she was satisfied that I had suffered enough she released me. “Now take all your clothes off,” she said. I stepped back and removed my t-shirt and denims. I hesitated to go completely naked and she shouted: “D a v a i D a v a i (come on ,come on)… Take everything off and don’t keep me waiting,” she said impatiently… “And this time I want you to put everything on the table”. I quickly removed the remainder of my clothing and proceeded to put my cock and balls on the table. She fixed her shoe on her foot a little better and she stepped lightly on me with her high heel on top of the middle part of my cock. “Now” she said, “I am going to make a piercing,” she laughed. I was beginning to feel much more nervous and I did not understand if she was serious or not but she steadily increased the pressure and her heel started to dig into me. “Look at me slave,’’ she said. I looked up into her eyes. She was totally in control of my fate and that had a very strange effect on me… I could see a really sadistic look on her face and the fact that she seemed to derive pleasure out of this acted as a sort of an anaesthetic for me. I did not want her to stop. When her heel was half way down in my flesh she stepped off. My skin was not broken but her heel mark was embossed deep and my “toy” was a red-purple colour. She walked off the table and back down the steps and standing in front of me, she said, “What do you say slave?” “Thank you,” I said and I thought that was the answer she was looking for. “I see that your memory isn’t so good…You will always use the term Mistress when you speak to me. Are you ready to get punished for your mistake?” I was confused again and I hesitated to answer. “D a v a i G a v a I,” she shouted. I think she wanted me to speak. “Yes Mistress Marina,” I answered. “Pity I do not have a whip or a cane with me but we should not let that stop us. You see that cable in the corner? Take it off the socket and bring it to me”. I went to the end of the room and got the wire, which was approximately a meter in length, for her. As I handed it over, she smiled at me. Now bend over in front of that chair with your head well down, and legs straight. Remember this position well. In future when I give the command ‘m e h s t a’ which means ‘place’ you will always assume this basic position for punishment”. You will know which is the punishment place. I will make that clear for you. I hope you are ready for this because I have no time for a warm up. Count to 10 and thank me for each stroke slave”. She folded the wire once across its length and started beating the back of my thighs with it. The first blow was bearable but as the cable hit my flesh for the third time at the same spot, I felt the pain penetrating deeper and deeper. With each stroke the wire wrapped around my right leg and that was particularly painful. A quite memorable sting, which lasted well into the next stroke, came after each blow. Before the eighth stroke my legs gave way and I fell to the floor in front of her. I was really embarrassed To be honest I thought that I was stronger than this. “You are weak,” she said. “You need a lot of pain training in addition to everything else….You must learn to take the pain which I give and enjoy it.” She put the wire on the table and walked across the room taking a seat on one of the sofas. “You will say thank you for kissing my feet slave.” I crawled to her feet and kissed them. “I have no more time to waste on you …”This is my last day here slave and if you want to serve me again you have to travel to me when I allow it.” In the meantime you will receive instructions with my wishes which should keep you busy when I am not around. If you agree to this, leave your contact details on a piece of paper and leave! You will hear from me soon.” I wrote my contact details put my clothes on in a hurry and left. As a first priority next day I prepared my papers and applied for a passport. I never had the opportunity to travel before and the first time I did was to travel to her. Two years have gone by since that first meeting and I suppose not a day passes that I don’t remember something about the precious moments I have spent serving her and about the pleasure I have received from the physical pain she administers to me. The desire to see her again grows stronger each day. Many small things around me have a tendency to remind me of her, like a smell of Coco Mademoiselle perfume, which she usually wears, or a specific pair of shoes, which I may see as I walk in the street, similar to hers. I guess leaving me here like this without a word for so long is amusing for her, or more likely, she simply forgot about her loyal subject in this part of the world. Then again, it maybe part of my training, to instil more discipline. Yes, everything must be about discipline…Learning to wait for what is due ... She must know best, what is good for me… She is my Mistress, my Owner… I only hope that she will show some mercy very soon… The End |
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