'Madam, Me and It' - Part III - The First Session

The First Session

“Good boys take off all their clothes and just lie on my table. There I will inspect you and play then assure you’re jerked off... if you’re obedient.”

I think it’s the European accent that offers a certain dynamic to her authoritative tone. One would guess French... perhaps high German. Madam claims she is Prussian. Blonde, tall, well muscled yet feminine, she is athletically built. Such physicality abets her deportment... a woman in charge.

My heart leapt with her initial words, The envisioned scene enthralled... submission with a happy ending. So I disrobed. No problem, that is expected. But not expected was to be immediately strapped down... and most tightly... and then hooded. Most professionals first inquire, assuring that there is no claustrophobia... that strict bondage is a turn on.

I kind of liked the idea that she did not ask. She took control... and in ceding control one does not ask permission.         

So there I laid supine, naked, wrists strapped, then ankles, thighs, forearms and waist.  

“Thoroughness... always thoroughness,” she whimsically explained, leisurely tightening each and every restraint.

I felt strangely comfortable. So many previous professional visits... so many dollars spent... now finally something succinct but overpowering... refreshingly overpowering.  

Comfortable that is until I heard her going through my things... gathering stuff from my pockets.

“I find it is best that I know who you really are... where you live... everything I can learn about you. You will be more obedient.”

Was this the beginning of the extortion/blackmail episode I formerly feared?

She stepped from the room. I later was to find she photocopied everything that truly identified me... real name included of course.

‘Should I cancel my credit cards?’ I wondered.

A legitimate concern, for yes she copied that information as well. Yet her actions added a degree of excitement, that masochistic thrill in ceding another layer of control... the ability to expose me.

Madam returned. I was soon calmed. With the hood forcing me into darkness my remaining senses became heightened... smelling more... feeling more... and yes hearing more... padded footsteps.

Hands began to inspect me as promised... soft... knowing... brazen. This while she spoke, governing words, in charge, describing what she intended to do to me. Promising I would be soon spouting like a whale as I felt myself harden in response to her touch... and her words... soft but commanding. Then I felt warm wet softness where a male likes to most feel. There came the scent of lotion and the gentle scrape of a razor. I was shaven, my entire pubes.

Oddly, with the shaving and inspection came a defacto massage, never before experienced in a D/s session... with a pro. I was being pampered... but not as a person of privilege or importance... but as a pet animal. I felt something attached to my scrotum, a parachute. Then I felt tension as Madam explained she liked having a man stretched. For a male of my ilk the sensation added more strange comfort as I heard something wind, obviously a winch of some kind. The tension slowly increased and my manhood reacted with further firmness. Madam clucked her tongue knowingly.

“I’ll want you back. Perhaps every two weeks. I like to have a man’s balls dangling at the knees. It takes time but you will enjoy the process.”

Such depravity! Yet the exchange of thoughts worked. When I felt a lubricated hand finally begin to work my penis, I realized how hard I had become. And as the tension on the scrotal parachute slowly increased, the greased hand worked... slowly as well... attentively. The woman knows the male anatomy, I told myself, having previously experienced many ‘endings’ both happy and barely adequate.

At her command I exploded, feeling the warm stickiness of thick male essence splash onto my chest, then ooze onto my lower abdomen as the hand expertly milked me dry.

“Yes, you are a good boy. You perform well for a woman. You will come back. More stretching. If not, I will charge your credit cards. So you may as well attend.”

An aloof commanding woman. For what more could I ask?