Sinner

A fem-dom, sadism and fetish smorgasbord. Avert your virgin gaze!

	“Sinner.” The word rasped like sandpaper over the tongue of the silk-clad serpent; a tall, lean figure cutting visibly through the fabric of the faux Nun's outfit she was wearing.  The word fell across the ears of it's target like a whip's lash, the first of many.  

	The listener was, in point of fact, a Sinner indeed.  By his very nature, it seemed, he indulged in the carnal pleasures of the flesh, his mind and body both built for fornication.  The male was a towering specimen, a good head taller than the mistress even without his horns, shoulders broad, chest barreled, arms and legs built like trees to move his massive frame. He wore a red flannel shirt over a white undershirt, and a pair of greasy, hole-ridden jeans that betrayed the fact he wore nothing beneath them.   His eyes wandered over the mistress even as she spoke, watching her move, watching the fabric ripple around her silhouette, watching her forked tongue dance around between her deadly fangs, and even watching the way her hood flared angrily at him as he smirked. 

	“Never been with a Cobra lady before.” The bull snorted, his gaze drawing lines from her stocking-clad feet, up her calves, up to where her thighs would meet, if he could see through the silken robe. 

	“Nor shall you today, heathen!”  Mistress Serena hissed.  Her tail coiled up and uncoiled so fast it snapped like a whip around her feet.  In a quick movement, Mistress had a thick, sturdy riding crop in hand, and had whipped it fast and hard across the cheek of the larger male, leaving his head turned slightly askance, and his smarm momentarily silenced.  Another speedy movement, and Mistress had his shirt open, and was face-to-chest with his muscled form.  This displeased her, and without a word, her perfectly manicured nails reached up and grabbed the bull by his nipples.  Hard. Points of finely honed nail and plastic dug themselves into tender flesh, and yanked them downwards, bringing a shrill cry of pain and surprise from the sinner, and dragging him to his knees.  “There, that's better.”  

	“What's your damage lady?!” The bull snorted defensively, arms crossing to protect his now aching nips. “I oughta g-OOF!”  The bull's whinging was silenced, this time by a swift knee to his solar plexus, leaving him gasping for air.  

	“You will call me MISTRESS when you speak, or speak not at all, wretch!  Now take off that hideous.... shirt, if you dare call it that.”  As the bull complied, leaving on his undershirt, Mistress stepped over and grabbed another tool from her arsenal of sexual weaponry, appropriately enough, a Bullwhip.  “Now you will crawl, sinner.  Crawl to the first station of your justly deserved punishment.”  Mistress practically drooled that last word, as the mere thought of his punishment sent shivers of anticipation running through her.  

	The bull crawled, much as he hated to, following along after Mistress on his hands and knees to the middle of a new area, one with a mobile of chains and straps hanging from the ceiling, and a mercifully padded floor contrasting the hard concrete he had been crawling on.  Mistress directed him to the center of the room, and with a rather expert crack, sent a single stripe along the arch of his back before she spoke.  

	“Now reach high on your knees, sinner.  Reach for god and pray he has mercy on your sinner's soul... because I will have no mercy on your worthless, heathen body!”  Mistress hissed hatefully.   As the bull reached up high, Mistress locked his wrists into cuffs on a bar, attached to chains, attached to seven hundred pounds of counterweights.  “You're lucky, sinner...” Mistress scoffed as she watched him dangle, letting the bullwhip dangle across the floor.  “I'm a damnable sssssssssssurgeon with this scourge.”  She dangled on the S sound as she moved behind him, and then licked her lips before cracking another painful stripe across the sinner's back.  

	The bull grunted a little at the pain, but he was obviously strong of will, and stronger perhaps of skin.  Lick after hot lick of the whip greeted his back, over his kidneys, right across the top of his tail, even at the nape of his neck, all just groaned or grunted away.  Then Mistress gave him a sharp stroke that stung his ass cheek hard, and he gasped and shied away from the pain.  Weakness revealed, Mistress came again, this time striking the other ass cheek just as hard.  Again, he shied away.  Another strike to the first cheek, and the bull was on his feet, pulling at the chains and straining to get away from her.  

	“I said on your KNEES, Sinner!”  Mistress bellowed, and this time a painful strike kissed the back of his right calf, driving him to one knee.. but only for a moment.  Mistress gasped and leapt back as the bull whirled on his foot, and charged at her!  The chains held, and even the bull's great strength could not move seven hundred pounds of counterweight, but he had anger in his eyes, which lasted about as long as it took Mistress' foot to leave the ground.  

	“URRRFFFF!”  The bull's breath rushed from his body, and the strength from his legs, as Mistress' foot leapt forth and plastered itself hard against his groin.  His testicles bulged out painfully from either side of her foot for a moment, before he fell away, knees knocking and arms flailing helplessly in the cuffs.  “My balls!  You b-bitch!”

	“You will address me as MISTRESS you cur...” Mistress reached under her robe, and with a shining flash, produced a new tool: a Knife.  “...or so help me God, I'll make you wish you had.”  She placed the shiny, sharp little instrument close to his neck, which immediately silenced him again.  As she held it there, she pulled another chain down, this one with a heavy metal collar that she locked tightly around his neck.  “This collar, you see, will be pulled up higher the more pressure there is on the counterweights... so you will be encouraged to stay standing upright with little pulling on the weights... or breathing will be impeded.  Understood?”  

	“Y-yes... mistress...”  The bull grunted and complained quietly.  He stood still and tall though, even as Mistress came back and locked his ankles into a spreader bar, which was then locked to the ground.  He dared not say a single thing though, as Mistress brought the knife up between his legs.  With little approaching the way of tact, Mistress cut open a large hole in the front of the bull's pants, letting his sizeable manhood dangle free.  

	“Look at your disgusting self.” She spat.  “How many gallons of wasted seed have spilled forth from these orbs, hmm?  How many gutter whores and impure, heathen wretches has this sinful spire penetrated? Just look at you!” She chided, “Even now, in the midst of your purification by punishment, how your dirty, sinful flesh conspires to sin further!” Mistress was right, as she spoke, the bull's thick penis rose slowly to full hardness.  Without any warning, Mistress took up her Riding Crop again, sheathing the knife before doing so, grabbed the bull's cock with one hand, and raised the crop with the other.  “Dirty!” She brought the riding crop's end down, hard, swatting the very tip of his dick, right over his urethral opening, causing him to cry out in pain.  Every word she spoke brought down another harsh, unforgiving swat of the crop.  “Filthy!  Sinful! You! Shame! Your! Family! With! Your! Meaningless! And! Abhorrent! Fornications!”  By the end, the tip of the bull's penis was throbbing in pain, an angry red color, and he was howling obscenities as loud as his lungs could belt them.  Through it all though, he remained hard as a rock. 

	“Filthy sinner!  Even now, your dirty, sinful shaft conspires to give you naught but ill-gotten pleasure!”  She stepped aside, shaking her head at him scornfully.  “You make me SICK!”  As she said that final word, her foot swung up again, and kicked the bull square in his aching testicles. 

	“AWRF! Y-you crazy bitch!” This earned him another kick in rapid succession, stealing his will to fight and most of his breath.  “HURRF! -cough- I... I mean... m-mistress... guh, fuck my BALLS...”

	“If punishing your heathen balls is the only way to get you to behave, then so be it!”  She gave him a quick knee to the groin, which left him coughing more and weak in the knees, the collar digging into his neck as he hung heavily in the chains for a few moments.  

	The mistress walked over to the toy chest nearby, and produced a very special, heavy, ring-shaped weight.  She walked over and firmly attached the long, tubelike contraption around the base of the bull's dangling scrotum.  When she let go, it slid downward, pulling the orbs trapped below it downward toward the ground, much to the mistress' satisfaction.  She took her knife and freed the bull from his pants entirely, letting the worthlessly shredded garment hang below him, trapped by the spreader bar.  She reached up and undid the collar, as well as the chains holding the bull's tired arms up.  The exhausted male immediately fell to his hands and knees, prostrate before his mistress.  

	“Now sinner, you will crawl to the final station of your punishment.” She grabbed him by one horn, and slowly led him to what could only be described as a modified pommel horse.  Grumbling but saying nothing, the bull dragged himself up and lay down on his belly on top of the horse.  The mistress dragged him onto it just far enough to let his ponderous pecker and weighted nuts hang off the back, his feet still locked in the spreader bar.  She clipped the spreader bar to the foot of the horse, and then cuffed the bull in a similar manner, leaving him essentially helpless under her ministrations. 

	“Now sinner, I would advise praying while I scour the sin from your body.  I will do so until you confess your sins!”  

	With that, she picked up another instrument of pain: a cat-o-nine.  She lifted it up, and brought it crashing down as hard as she could on the bull's back, causing him to moan in pain.  Secretly, he was thankful she hadn't gone back to thrashing his balls.  Stroke after painful stroke came raining down on his back, some drawing up welts, others just leaving angry red marks.  Then she struck his ass again, and this time it was hellish.  He yelped at the first stroke, tears of pain welling up as welts from the whip earlier had risen, but now all he could do was wriggle helplessly as she thrashed him.   In all, 50 strokes fell between his back and ass, leaving him a moaning, quivering mess.  

Then mistress picked the riding crop back up.

Then mistress struck the sinner directly in his helpless left testicle.  

	“N-NOOOO!” The bull yelped.  His balls were aching and swollen, and there was no movement to be had at all with them weighted down like they were, no escape or reprieve from the impact of the vicious leather tip of the crop.  

	“You'll get no mercy for these ugly things from me, sinner!  Best pray for deliverance and beg for forgiveness!”  As she said that, she brought the crop down again, this time on his right nut.  

	And so it went again, one swat to one testicle or the other, a brief pause to let the pain sink in, and then a swat to the opposite one.  All the while, if the bull wasn't hollering obscenities or just making pained noises, he was panting and grunting trying to catch his breath.  Once more, fifty strokes fell in total, 25 to either side, and the bull's face was stained with the tears of his anguish.  However, against all odds and common sense, the bull's dick remained thick and firm, verging on full erection.   

	“You're a resilient sinner that's for sure.”  Mistress scoffed, putting the crop down again.  “But I've got the cure for resilience like yours...”  As she said this, she stepped back behind him... and drew her knife again.  She lay the cold steel blade against his right ass cheek and smiled.  “Do you know what this is, sinner?”  

	“Yuh... your knife... m-mistress...” He blubbered. 

	“That's right.” She took the knife off his rump, and placed the dull side against his taint.  “Do you know what I could do to you with this knife, sinner?” 

	“N-no...”  The sinner could think of many things but he dared not voice them. 

	“I could cure you of your sinful ways...” The mistress let the dull edge of the knife slide lower, to the top of the weights tugging his scrotum downward. “...forever.”

	“Nuh... No!”  The bull gasped out, fear suddenly gripping his heart and mind at the thought of losing his jewels. 

	“You've no way to stop me, fool.”  The mistress said no more, and began letting the dull side of the knife rub up and down along his stretched-out scrotum.  The bull begged and pleaded with her, but his cries fell on deaf ears.   Eventually, the mistress moved the blade, and began instead rubbing the dull edge along the underside of the bull's still-throbbing prick.  She grabbed ahold of the opposite side with one gloved hand, and gave a squeeze, and started rubbing the dull metal edge against the tender underside of his cock faster and firmer, which made him moan both in fear and in pleasure.  

	“Mistress... please... I'm going to... c-cum!” The bull whined helplessly as he felt the throes of orgasm beginning to rise. 

	“Then cum, filthy sinner, and let all your sins be spilled from you!”  The mistress hissed out, dropping the knife and reaching up with both hands to squeeze the bull's defenseless testicles mercilessly hard.  

	“I CONFESS!”  The bull cried out in sheer agony, but his orgasm came anyway, he kicked for dear life, his hands pounded at the sides of the pommel horse, and he hollered his throat raw as the vicious Cobra lady squeezed the life nearly completely out of his draining balls.   After he'd cum however, the mistress unlocked his ankles from the spreader, helping him step out of his destroyed jeans.  She then came and uncuffed him from the pommel horse, helping him shakily get to his feet, and helping him free his nuts from the weight.  

	“I'll go get you an ice pack.”  She said, walking over to the mini-frige by the toy chest and retrieving one.  “You lasted longer than last time, Brendan, I'm surprised.  I'm either losing my touch, or you're getting tougher.” She gave him a wink and the icepack.  He dug around his ruined jeans for his wallet, and handed over a fat stack of bills, which she began counting.  

	“You've definitely not lost your touch, Iris... fuckin' eh.”  He tried his best to hold the ice pack to his aching balls, but his hands were shaking from exertion, and soon after Iris had finished counting her cash and put it away, he dropped it accidentally, and bent over to pick it up.  

	“Hey Brendan?”  Iris queried with a smile, but she had no intention of letting him answer.  Her foot flew up, as fast and hard as she could fling it, and plastered his balls to his body one final time.  

	“WhuUUUGGGH!” Brendan fell to his knees, hands and ice pack plastered protectively over his throbbing jewels.  “Whyyyy?”  He squeaked out, sounding like he'd inhaled helium. 

	“One to tide you over until next month, so you remember who your goddamn mistress is.”  She picked his head up by one horn and smirked evilly at him. “If you can keep your fatass fuckstick in your pants until next time, maybe I'll let you eat my pussy.”  She giggled a little. “Maybe.”  

THE END