And with that, she fetches her slave from the front door and orders him to her upstairs dungeon.

 

Drowned in red light, the dungeon is adorned with multiples of everything you'd find at a respectable fetish shop. A shelving unit holds glass and rubber dildos, plugs, candles, condoms, lube, lotion and latex gloves. Floggers, whips, chains, cuffs, paddles, riding crops and bites are on all on display and at the ready. A plush, throne-like chair sits across from a contraption dubbed the Motor City Spanking Bench. "Because of all the seatbelt straps," Pain says. A couple Viking swords are propped in another corner of the room "just in case some fucker tries to pull some shit."

"Take your fucking clothes off," she demands.

Promptly, Snake does just that, revealing a Prince Albert piercing: a chrome barbell jutting from the tip of his penis. "I just adore chrome," he tells Pain, and smiles, looking at her and fluffing himself.

A black leather ball-stretcher cuffs Snake's scrotum, choking it taut to the point of discoloration. 

With the backside of her hand, she slaps it. "Did I say you could touch yourself?" she asks, rhetorically. His smile gives way to a grimace. He didn't see it coming. Even for those who love it, pain is pain. 

Snake is strapped and ratcheted into the Motor City Spanking Bench, immobile on his hands and knees, as the Lady of Pain touches his bare skin with an electro-stimulation device, which glows light blue as it gives off its bright white spark upon contact. Talking down to him and telling him what he has in store that evening, she sends small electrocutions to his backside flesh, sending pulses to his most sensitive parts. 

The shocks give out because the device hasn't charged long enough. A frustrated Castratta Lady of Pain runs her hands across a bevy of paddles, setting two on Snake's back, and commences with thwacking his bare ass with a third. 

"You're already sweating?" she says with a laugh. "We're just getting warmed up."

Wallops continue with emergent force. 

She picks up a second paddle (hard black rubber on one side and what looks to be hundreds of thin metal nails on the other) and finally a third, for 100 counted strikes. On 101, she hesitates briefly and administers a carefully placed punch to his testicles. 

He lunges forward the best he can with a muted moan, and wonders once more if a puke bucket should be fetched.

The aromas of candles, lube, cigarette smoke, perfume and nether-region sweat permeate the room. 

The dominatrix goes back to her arsenal and retrieves a blackjack, a lead weight wrapped in leather. She proceeds to use one hand to spread his cheeks while the other clubs his rectum. 

There are some things you can't unsee. 

And more follow. 

"Slap your dick as hard as you can!" Pain orders. Complying, Snake winces with pain, amazing even himself. 

Snake then contentedly and carefully preps himself for Pain's appendages.

While his dominatrix sets condoms, lube and surgical scissors (to cut packets of lube) on a small white towel, Snake splays a purple velvet blanket on the floor and then lies on it on his back. He tucks his knees to the top of his torso and holds his ankles as high in the air as he can manage. The bottoms of his feet go red pink from a quick caning.

She squats on his face, temporarily making it hard for him to breathe, as she circles white rope around his wrists and knees, cinching lines together in a series of expert knots.

Then comes the lube-doused chrome butt-plug. 

After that, with a lubed-up latex glove, one, then three, then five fingers, and then Pain's whole right hand finds its way into him and out of him until she says he is relaxed. 

"I think I can get my foot in there now," she says, and takes off her boots. She smushes a woolen socked foot into his face, pushing it into his nostrils and mouth. After taking her socks off, she stuffs a foot into his mouth and calls him her "dirty little foot slut." Then she sits back in front of her slave and rolls a condom onto her right foot.

More lube. ...

By the time her entire foot, up to its arch, is inside, Snake asks for a break "to take poppers" — alkyl nitrites — which are inhaled to relax the sphincter muscles and provide a few minutes of a euphoric high. (Their use and sale are questionable for legal and health issues.)

Pain gives permission, unties a hand, passes him his popper bottle, and lights another cig.

"They send me into subspace, sometimes immediately," Snake says, seeming oddly clinical for the situation. "They lower what inhibitions I have left and get me past the breaking point."

Then he sniffs a small bottle and fades away. 

When the foot session ended, the dominatrix disposes of the condom and then sticks her foot (yes, that one) into Snake's mouth.

She moves onto the clothespins. Twenty of them are attached to his scrotum, which is then struck with a riding crop before the pins are fervently knocked off.

It is his ultimate and perhaps most violent punishment of the night.

Castratta Lady of Pain then leaves the room for a moment and comes back naked, save for the small black silk robe that just covers her crotch. 

She sits in her throne and orders her slave to attend to her feet for the rest of the night, lighting another Virginia Slim, running her other hand through her hair, exhaling deeply. 

It is almost midnight.

He kneels before her and does as she says, following every step meticulously and in silence. Rubbing her feet just so. Sucking her toes just so.

Every now and then Snake begs to rub the inner thigh of his master. 

Pain blows smoke in his face and tells her slave that if he tries she'll kick him in the balls before he knows what hit him. 

What do you think he does?

 

Travis R. Wright is arts and culture editor of Metro Times. Send comments to letters@metrotimes.com.

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