There are many professional dommes in the city where I live, and I’ve been to see a number of them. My experiences have been satisfying, but still, it was difficult to envision one of them inspiring a letter to your magazine. Then I met Mistress Roseanne. She is drop-dead gorgeous, with an absolutely incredible ass, fantastic legs, an awe-inspiring fetish wardrobe and an attitude you wouldn’t believe. She is very small, and it’s a terrific turn-on for me to turn control over to such a petite woman, especially one who is so much younger than I am.
Another thing that turns me on is her eyes. She uses them flirtatiously, batting them like Scarlett O’Hara. Then the next minute they have the glint of diamonds as she forces me to submit to her will. They are one of the most entrancing features of this very dominant woman. In fact, just by looking at them you can get a sense of her attitude in the photo that’s in her ad, you can see that she’s looking down her nose at the rest of us. She’s a cut above, and she knows it. Her clients come to serve her, not to satisfy themselves.
The first time I saw Mistress Roseanne, her intensity was almost frightening, and it was a while before I went back for a second session. I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure I could handle it. I finally went back and it was another extremely intense session. I have never been so exhilarated after two hours of play, but never so exhausted, either. From then on, I had to keep seeing her–I couldn’t see anyone else.
For that first session, Mistress Roseanne chose the big playroom at the end of the hall. She wore stiletto heels and a skintight black leather mini-dress that barely covered her panties and gorgeous ass. I, of course, wore nothing, having been told to strip as soon as I’d arrived.
Her next order was to get up on the cross, where she fastened my wrists, warning me to let her know if my hands got numb. A length of rope was then looped around my neck, between my legs and around my waist, and then she used the end to tie my cock and balls. Once I was bound, she attacked my nipples and balls with her long red fingernails.
For such a small woman, Mistress Roseanne generates a lot of power, and soon I was in ecstatic agony, my cock dripping like a faucet. She put a condom over it and then found some nipple clamps among her toys and tried to see just how tight she could make them. I winced as she turned the screws, bolts of electricity shooting from my nipples through my chest. Once they were in place, she ran a vibrator over them and my bound genitals. Talk about mixing pleasure with pain! My whole body was alive and I writhed within my bonds. Loosening my bonds, she set me free and then made me put on a pair of pink satin panties.
Standing in those tall stiletto heels while giving me the gift of all that pain was fatiguing for her, of course, so she took off her boots and sat down on a chair. Kneeling before her, I massaged her feet while licking them clean of the little sweat and dirt that had accumulated throughout the day. Her legs came next, and she lay on the bondage table as I gave them a thorough massage. I guess I must have pleased her, because she then had me take a place on the table, where she fucked me gently with a dildo, saying that she wanted to save my ass for a real beating. The latex cock slipped in and out of my anus, and it was all I could do to keep from coming. My dick throbbed unmercifully, but I managed to hold on.
As Mistress fucked me, she asked about the tattoo on my right asscheek. It is the mark of a mistress to whom I belonged a long time ago, and I told her so. She accepted this explanation without question little did I know then what Mistress Roseanne was plotting. Soon she pulled the dildo from my ass, told me to get dressed and then sent me home with an aching hard-on and the direction not to touch myself in the week until our next session.
I went to see Mistress Roseanne on a regular basis after that, and the more pain she inflicted, the more my submission to her grew. Like herself, the pain she delivers is addictive and intoxicating, and I delight in whatever she deigns to give me. The force of her personality overwhelms me, and before long, I had offered to become her personal slave, her maid, her cook, her chauffeur, her typist, her errand boy–pretty much anything that she wanted of me.
Roseanne told me that to become her full-time slave I’d have to sign a “slave contract,” and I asked her what that would entail. She explained that she’d get carte blanche permission to do whatever she wanted to me, and that I couldn’t object. If I did, she’d end our session and I’d never see her again. Since I was already totally subservient to her, I didn’t see how this would change anything, and quickly agreed.
Mistress Roseanne left the room to get a pen and paper. When she returned, she sat down and wrote out a contract in neat, precise handwriting. This is what it said: “I will see Rose-anne on a regular basis. Throughout this time I will accept anything that is asked of me, without limits. I am aware that I am giving my mistress complete ownership of my body and my mind.”
We both signed it. Then, at her direction, I lay on my stomach on the table. She didn’t bind my ankles or wrists she simply told me to lie still. I hadn’t the slightest idea of what she had in mind, but I began to get the message when I felt her open hand on my asscheek. I jumped at the contact, and she calmly told me to keep still or I’d be in trouble. Next I felt another smack, but this time it was the impact of a wooden paddle hitting my ass. Then I felt it again, and again, as the blows began falling so fast that it soon felt as if flesh was throbbing and burning.
I howled louder with each smack, my rigid cock pulsing beneath me as Mistress Roseanne spanked me harder and harder. Then there was a slight pause before the next blow, but this one was sharp and stinging. I knew better than to turn around, but I could tell that she had switched to some sort of crop or cane. I could just imagine the red lines that crisscrossed my ass, could feel them searing my flesh. She covered both cheeks as well as the tops of my thighs before she finally ceased.
The next thing I saw was Mistress Roseanne pulling something from a drawer and then lighting a candle. She held a mysterious object over the flame so with my heart in my throat, I asked her what she was doing. “I’m branding the letter ‘R’ on your ass,” she said, and explained that now that I was hers, I should bear her mark as well as that of my former mistress. I was extremely excited by this, as it served to further prove her ownership of me.
When the brand was hot enough, she touched it to my ass, and the burning sensation seared through my flesh. To my surprise, the momentary pain soon turned into a warm, throbbing pleasure that I really enjoyed. Finished, she stepped back and admired her work, and then went to see if any of the other mistresses were interested in seeing what she’d done. She returned with Mistress Brenda, who complimented Roseanne on both the excellent job she’d done and the fact that she’d turned me into such a willing and obedient slave. It was only then that I realized that I really had been good, keeping still through the entire thing. It was what my mistress had demanded of me, and I had done my best. There was never a question in my mind that I wouldn’t–the woman’s personality simply enslaved me.
I realized that with that R on my ass, I had made a lifetime commitment to my mistress, and was extremely pleased. When I left that day, she told me not to look at my ass until the next morning. I slept on my stomach that night, and when I awoke, I went to the mirror. There, on my right asscheek, was a big letter R, about two inches high and one inch wide. She had done a beautiful job.
Now, every time I see myself in a mirror, even without seeing the brand, and every time I feel a twinge in my ass, I realize that I will never see another mistress. I belong to Mistress Roseanne, and that’s all there is to it. It’s a great feeling.–Mr. John T., Via E-Mail