This is the narrative of a video that is freely available on the internet. In this sense it is a true story. All the acts of depravity described herein are happening in that video. However, the inner story about what goes on in the mind of the proteinists is pure conjecture. If you enjoy BDSM and fetishes involving pain, humiliation, piss and scat, read on. Also, you may possibly be able to find the movie to go with the story by using relevant search keywords in your favorite browser. Unless the video has been taken down, of course, over which I have no control.
The video shows a couple, male Master and female slave, playing in a dungeon. They are likely married to each other, as she is wearing a wedding band. Or perhaps the husband has loaned her out to the present Master. They are speaking French, so the dungeon may be in Paris or in Montreal, who knows. In any case I want to thank the unknown couple for sharing their lifestyle and recording enactments of what someConsider extreme fansies. Kudos to both.
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Cassandra used to be a proud woman, standing 5’9″ tall (over 6′ in heels), but nowadays she stood only rarely and briefly, for instance when Master told her to change position. Right now she was squatting on the tiled floor, in front of the bright red wall, hands behind her back, half leaning against the Saint Andrew’s cross for support. She was Wearing a corset around her waist and heeled latex boots of the same color that covered her lower legs up to her knees entirely. Otherwise she was naked, except for accessories marking her slavehood: a studied collar with a leash and 4 pairs of matching rings – 1 pair on her ears, 1 pair on her pierced nipples, and 2 pairs on her outer labia. The rings were made of steel for heaviness and a downward pull, as it is appropriate for a slave.
She was not a skinny woman, but not overweight either. Her body was toned, and her wait had a perfect hourglass shape. Of course the corsethelped. She had a tattoo of a dragon on her chest, the signature of her Master symbolically hovering above her breasts, which were hanging heavily in submission to gravity and to Him. Cassandra’s face was round and her expression docile. Her black hair was cut short, so her collar-clad neck was always plainly visible. Her skin was pale, with barely discernible marks or bruises from previous usage.
With her legs spread apart, she was displaying her pretty pussy featuring a bright pink cliporis, contrasting nicely with the darker crisis of her urethra and vulva below. Everything was clearly visible, as the 2 pairs of steel rings created a natural opening between her outer labia.
This area was presentedly targeted by the riding crop used by her Master on her sensitive skin, alternating between stern beating and tender caressing. “Met ta chatte bien en avant – bring your pussy out to the front”, he encouraged her. At once she exposed her sensitive parts even more to the crop, enduring the pain and welcoming the arousal with legs trembling, moving ever so slightly when the crop was dealing an exceptionally hard blow to her delicate pussy lips. “i must not cry, and i must not close my legs”, she thought, literally thinking of herself in lower case. “Maitre, ca faith mal” – “Master, this hurts”, she said in a small voice, not as a plea for him to stop but merely as an acknowledgment of her feeling. “My slave is doing well” he thought, “she knows that her endurance of pain pleases me”. As an afterthought, he let the crop linger on her swollen clip, gently rubbing her glistening button, to transform pain into pleasure. The wanton slut reacted obviously by welcome the sensing, without grinding her pussy too eagerly into the smooth leather. It would be inappropriate and pretentious to hope for an early orgasm she had not yet deserved. Sure enough, the crop was soon withdrawn and she was ordered to turn around to face the wall, put the leash in her mouth and presentt her backside.
There she was, bottoms up, parting her glorious cheats so Master could easier inspect the hole in-between. But first, a warm up spanking. The white flesh turned progressively pink, as he spanked her with his bare hands, and not a sound was heard from her. She was practically on a break, considering what was to come next.
“Ecarte ton cul – part your ass” Master commanded, and she compiled, gripping the pair of glowing bum cheeses with her well-manicured hands. The burgundy color of her nails contrasted nicely with her pale skin. Between her tights, beneath her hole, her gaping pussy showed, adorned with 4 rings hanging from her pierced labia. Lower still her face peeked through, her dark eyes wide open, her mouth firmly gripping the leash. Master attached heavy clamps to her labia, just above – or from this position, below – her genital jewelry. Then he hung a weight on each clamp. This pulled her labia down by at least half an inch. A second pair of weights; bare a whimper from her. A third pair; she was in agony. Desperately biting on the leash, she tried in vain to distract herself from the burning sensing course through the folds of her exposed pussy, feeling as if it were to be ripped apart. Then the spanking resumed.
It didn’t help that the weights were now swinging back and forth. It also didn’t help that the weights had spikes that would scratch her inner tights if they swayed sidewards. The only way was to hold still and endure in silence, letting Master decide when the torture would end. He, who knew her so well, sensed from the degree of moisture dripping from her pussy how much more she could still take. In fact, he made her stand up, took the leash out of her mouth and slowly led her around the room.
There she was, walking cautiously yet upright in heels, her posture composed, weights dangling from her cunt, a proud woman once more. Then she bowed in front of the Saint Andrew’s cross, so the weights could be removerved, one by one. Each motion was accompanied by the sound of her heavy breathing, as she adjusted to the changing sensing. At the removal of the last weight, her labia literally snapped an inch higher, lifting up the clamps that were still firmly attached. Master now opened each clamp very slowly, as she would experience a sudden in-rush of pain from the blood flow returning to her veins. Then the ordeal was over.
He comforted her wet and tortured cunt with gentle cares before his fingers wandered upwards to probe her equally vulnerable rear hole. “Ton cul est sale – your ass is dirty” he remarked. “Vas y, chie toi, Cassandra – go ahead, shit yourself”. What she promptly did. It was not easy to shit with her bum being in the highest location of her body. In bowing position, her hands were gripping her bum cheeses and Therefore not available to support the weight of her upper body, while her head was almost touching the floor. And yet, the soft brown mass she had been holdinginside during all that time, flowed easily from her bowels. The rivulets of shit were dropping down to the tiled floor she had cleaned only hours before. “T’es une belle saloppe – you are a pretty slut”, Master remarked, while Cassandra enjoyed emptying her dietive tracts. The relief it provided felt almost like an orgasm in slow motion. “Pousse encourage – push again” she heard him say, when the last bit remained obviously stuck in the opening of her cavity. Try as she may, Master had to use a piece of paper to wipe it clean, and so it was: no smear, no traces of shit trailing down her legs, no feces infesting her tortured yet pristine pussy. But how to dispose of the paper?
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