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Message-ID: <63050asstr$1408014609@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Bawdy Bloke <nospam@bawdybloke.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Rose Queen (FDom BDSM, Torture, Chastity)
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Date: Thu, 14 Aug 2014 07:10:09 -0400
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This is taken from my blog at http://bawdybloke.com/story-rose-queen/

She looked pure.

Innocent and virtuous; untainted by the realities of modern life.

She radiated divinity; the long white silk gown, clinging elegantly over 
her teenage torso, remained unkinked and unruffled in the bodice as she 
walked. It was exuberant: the skirt of the ball-gown style outfit 
covered by decorative ruffles. Her hair shimmered a soft buttery golden, 
each strand seductively curled at the ends into bouncing twists. Her 
appearance was topped with her crown: a colourful array of roses twined 
into a halo.

She was only just eligible: the rules stated that the Rose Queen must be 
a teenager and Nina was nineteen years and eleven months, but she had 
been selected from a pool of fifty eager young ladies, each one 
desperate to be crowned at the annual summer fair. It was a serious 
honour: the Rose Queen had status in the village, influence in the local 
parish and duties in the local church. She had to uphold the highest 
standards of integrity and ethics: her status as a figurehead was deeply 
emblematic.

But while Nina looked virginal, the reality was anything but. She was a 
slut, a trollop and a prostitute. She was a vicious sadist who sought 
satisfaction by thrashing and humiliating her partners while charging 
them for the privilege. She was twisted and fiendish.

The villagers didn't see that side of her: they saw a beautiful sweet 
girl who had fulfilled her lifetime ambition. They saw a lovely 
ambassador for the church and for their village. They saw beauty, purity 
and respectability because that's what Nina wanted them to see.

I saw the woman who had subjected me to three hours of torture. She 
rented a rural cottage, well away from prying eyes or suspicious ears. I 
arrived at mid-afternoon, as agreed in our e-mail exchange. Within five 
minutes I was tied naked to her fence, the leather-clad dominatrix 
warming her whip on my thighs and buttocks.

She said nothing and I didn't dare look over my shoulder. I shivered as 
the rough wood of the fencepost grated against my sensitive dick when I 
moved, responding to the tail of her weapon as it landed on my rump. The 
"innocent" girl teased, her dainty voice cackled malelovently when I 
squealed. The fiercer the hit, the louder the squall.

And she loved hearing my agonising cries, the teenager panting as she 
inflicted pain on a man twenty years her senior. Hoping not to hear my 
agreed safeword, as her grunts became louder and the slashing of pain 
across my backside grew more intense. I was yelping, tears streaking 
down my cheek as her whip drove agony into my muscles and caused my skin 
to sizzle excruciatingly.

I flinched with every strike, desperate to flee and yet unable to utter 
my word of escape. Her whip slashed across my shoulder blades, and 
reddened my thighs with a battery of fierce strikes, draining me of my 
energy.

As I felt myself nearing the edge of my tolerance, she dropped her whip 
and fastened a collar around my throat, attaching a lead to her slave.

I was untied from the fence. We went for a walk, leading me on all fours 
through her garden: the thigh-high black boots of the dominatrix cutting 
through her overgrowing vegetation with ease.

I yelped at the brambles, squealing as the spikes dug into my thighs and 
sides. I shivered as she walked through cold puddles and I was dragged 
through her freezing pond. And then I yelled, crying loudly as she 
strode through the nettles; the underside of my dick covered with 
agonising stings.

Pain, like nothing I'd ever experienced smashed my body as I collapsed 
on the grass, crying profusely at her feet as the dozen stings of the 
nettle plants sent my sensory system into overload. I clenched my hands 
over my abused cock, bawling like a baby as she watched. Laughing. 
Laughing and masturbating as she dragged my body back to the bushes and 
pushed me into the roses: thorns jabbed into a hundred places on my 
battered skin.

I got another whipping: my body pressed against the barbs as the whip 
bore down on my bruised buttocks.

But that was last week; this week the dominatrix was the toast of the 
village. I waited until most of the villagers had left and visited the 
merciless minx in her tent to pay my respects at her new status. "You 
look incredible," I muttered.

"Well that's a few less spanks for you," she giggled. "Guess we are 
still on for tomorrow?" She asked with a wry smile. "Usual rate."

"Definitely!" I replied. "I think my wounds have healed." Her eyes 
flicked away from me to the vicar waiting impatiently at the foot of the 
table. She sent him out of the tent, and took a necklace from beneath 
her silk dress, kissing a key on the end of the chain.

"Sorry, I've got to go. I have a promise to fulfil."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I put the Reverend in chastity," she admitted with a wink. "He's 
been there for eight months. I said he could come when I became Rose 
Queen." Her voice chuckled as she spoke. "Although he's getting a big 
surprise." Her eyes gleamed as she lifted the wide dress to her waist to 
reveal an eight-inch strap-on dildo, hidden beneath the vast gown of her 
silk garment. "I'm going to have some fun with him tonight."

"Christ almighty!"

She let her dress fall to the floor and stared at me in the eyes. 
"That's blasphemous," she warned. "I might have a special punishment for 
you tomorrow." She patted her waist and giggled. "A very special 
punishment. I have responsibilities now. You won't be errant in front of 
me!"

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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