Extreme Domination Story.
A classic Female Domination story, ‘Mistress Misery’ written by a prominent and practicing UK Dominatrix.. A dark and exceptionally twisted story of a good man falling into the clutches of an evil Mistress. Some men are born to ruin, and some bring ruin upon themselves, or be the unlucky butt of circumstance. Mr Sandbrook was none of these. He was a good man who was taken by evil; humiliated and degraded, broken and changed by a sadistic force into something that gave ‘ruin’ a new definition. He was taken by Cruelty herself. He was taken by Mistress Misery.
This is a hardcore and extreme story of blackmail and degradation. This is NOT about a role-play, it is not about entertainment. It is about a life being taken and ruined in the harshest and most degrading manner possible. The victim of this blackmail is spared nothing, Mistress Misery is a cruel and harsh Domme, the very embodiment of evil. Be warned…she will take you, she will break you, and she will laugh all the time.
…An instant later, he jerked up in bed, resting on his arm. Something terrible had settled over his heart. The events of the previous evening came back to him. To begin with, it all seemed so unlikely that he was convinced that it must have been a dream. He swung his legs out of the bed and looked to see what he had knocked off the table.
His whole body tensed and his breath left him as he recognised Mr Priestley’s phone. It that were true….
He raced still half-dressed to the computer and raised the lid. The picture of Mistress Misery was still there, and the sight of Her brought it all back with painful intensity. He knelt down on the carpet and put his head in his hands. Was it all really true? ALL of it? Even……? He could not bear to think about it.
He remembered that She had wanted him to text Her when he got up. He looked up at Her and the half fearful/half blissful feelings of the night before began to stir inside him again, rising from his groin and burning in chest. You are my slave now. ‘No’, he thought, desperately, but he knew that it was true, deep inside. Text me when you wake up.
Mr Sandbrook got Mr Priestley’s phone, without thinking about the premium rate, and texted:
He waited for the response, feeling totally helpless.
Start the messenger, slave. Put the mike on.
He did so, and jumped slightly as Mistress Misery filled the screen again. This time her hair was loose again, her upper body wrapped in a black silk dressing gown with dragons embroidered in a vivid red. She typed a message.
How do you feel, slave?
It was an excellent question and far too complicated for a simple answer. He typed back:
Strange. Like I’m in a dream.
He saw her smile at that, the thin, cruel smile that he had already come to recognise. The smile that made his stomach turn over and his heart flutter in his chest.
No dream, slave. Now look at me and repeat these words. ‘I belong to Mistress Misery’
Mr Sandbrook whimpered a little as the words went through him like electricity. He simply did not understand what was happening inside him. He found himself saying it with deadly seriousness and total sincerity:
‘I belong to Mistress Misery’
Good boy. Now ‘I worship Mistress Misery’
He looked up at her with a pleading look, but there was not the slightest hint of flexibility in her eyes. He had no choice but to say it.
“I worship Mistress Misery.”
The worst part of it, from the point of view of his bruised and crushed ego, was that as he said it, it felt like it was true. He knelt before her and had an overpowering urge to kiss the ground before Her Feet. He sobbed a little and groaned in disbelief.
He looked up to see Her putting her hand to Her face to stifle an evil chuckle.
Very good, slave. These words now frame the entire meaning Your life. You will say them on Your knees every morning, kneeling before me or my picture if I am unavailable. You can say them as many times as you like, whenever you like. They will strengthen you. You will find them comforting, affirming and deeply satisfying. You already do, don’t you, slave?
He wished it was not true, and tears ran down his cheeks, but it was useless to deny it.
Good. You will be given more words to say, cretin, but I have learned to start in a simple way with pathetic males like you.
“Thank You, Mistress.”
Now off to work with you, slave. Earn money for me. Text me again when you get in. And get a nice dog collar and chain lead at the pet shop on your way home.
Mr Sandbrook gulped at this, and shuddered at the very thought of being put into a collar and lead, half in pleasure, half in fear.
“What of Mr Priestley, Mistress?”
Dear Len? Don’t go near him again. I will sort him out. Continue to use his phone for the moment.
Now, fuck off.