Mistress Karen’s Prisoner (formerly “Punished Today, Punished Every Day”, which was an awful name!) is a new story of female domination by Miranda Birch.
Mark Frazer gets on the wrong side of his gangland boss, and finds himself a captive in the cellar of a dominatrix and her maid. As ‘Dickhead’ the slave, he is subjected to all sorts of cruel abuse; but that is as nothing compared to what he gets when his Mistress decides to dress him up and turn him into ‘Daisy’ the tart…
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“Up you come, Dickhead,” ordered Janice gaily. Her riding crop swung menacingly above him. If he delayed, he knew he would feel it. Wearily he climbed out of the stone pit.
“My God, you stink, Dickhead,” said Janice callously.
You would imagine that the smell was his fault!
“You’ll have to have a shower before I take you to your Mistress. Move!”
The crop caught him painfully across one flank and he stumbled after the scantily-clad woman. He looked at her shapely limbs and swinging bottom and felt a vague stirring in his loins. But he could do nothing. The cock restrainer he had to wear rendered him as useless as a eunuch. And how those two loved reminded him of that fact! They came to the small shower room at the far end of the cellar.
“Get in there, stinker!” rapped Janice, and gave him another vicious cut with the crop.
Mark yelped and staggered into the cubicle. The next moment, freezing cold water was lancing down on him, robbing him of breath, making his gasp.
“Jump up and down, Dickhead,” sneered Janice, “keep yourself warm.”
Mark jumped. His teeth were chattering. He had been cold enough in the pit, but now he was bloody freezing. Janice kept him under the shower for a good ten minutes, occasionally giving him a stinging flick with the crop. What a she-devil this young woman was! Only out-done by Mistress Karen. At long last the barrage of cold water ceased.
“Out!” ordered Janice. An imperious finger pointed down to the cellar. “I want you running round this cellar until I tell you to stop. Move your arse, Dickhead! I want you flat out.”
At once Mark broke into a fast trot, hugging the whitewashed wall. At least, for the time being, It was better than being under the shower. At least, to begin with.
“Faster!” bellowed Janice, flexing her crop menacingly.
Mark increased his pace but tried to keep something in reserve. He never quite knew what would be demanded of him next.
The leather tab of the crop caught him on the flank as he passed Janice. He saw her grinning with cruel amusement, and hated her even more. Sometimes he liked to think of what he would do to her if he ever had her at his mercy. Some hope!
Mark lost count of the number of circuits he made around the cellar. He began to get short of breath. Then he got a stitch, and there were pains in his chest. But On and on he struggled, no longer cold but now steaming with sweat.
Then he stumbled and sprawled, falling almost immediately in front of Janice.
“Weakling!” she snarled and her agonising crop went vigorously to work.
“Mercy, please, mercy, Miss, I can’t go on,” Mark pleaded weakly. Janice laid on regardless.
At last the crop ceased to fall. Mark lay there sobbing weakly.
“I reckon that did you a bit of good,” said Janice callously. “You can thank me, Dickhead.”
“Th-thank you, Miss,” he whined. He knew he was pathetic, and quite unmanly, but he simply couldn’t help it.
“Look up at me,” ordered Janice.
Mark looked up and could see right under the girl’s short skirt. There right before him was the little thin V of the girl’s briefs. He gazed at it hopelessly, despairingly. i am no longer a real man, he told himself. These two woman had broken him down and defeated him utterly.