i show up at Your door, at three pm sharp, as ordered, and ring the doorbell. Just the sound of Your stiletto heels approaching gets my heart racing, i’m full of nervous apprehension and shrill excitement between my ears about our session. You answer the door, opening the door wide and gesturing me in (and onto my knees) while greeting me. Trembling, i hand you the plain brown paper bag i’ve brought, thanking You for allowing me to amuse You with my suffering. You snap Your fingers before walking down the hall to the dungeon, meaning i am to follow on my knees. i gratefully crawl quickly behind, smitten by the sight of Your deadly heels. You utter one word to me: “Prepare.”, and leave the room. i disrobe as swiftly as i can, folding my clothes neatly in the corner, and kneel with my ass resting on my feet, hands resting upturned on my thighs, eyes downcast.
After what seems a half hour but is only about ten minutes, You return, dropping the brown bag on a nearby table and stroking the hair on my head. You reach your arm back and slap my face so hard it makes me see stars. “Thank You, Mistress,” i say quietly. You pat the torture table, then grab my nipples hard, pulling me up to my feet and pushing me onto the table. You make short shrift of the work necessary to bind me firmly on my back to the table. Cooing sweetly as You take a hundred-pound note from the bag, You proceed to slide the edge of it across the shaft of my laughably miniscule erection, leaving a paper cut in its wake that blooms a drop of crimson. i gasp and You chuckle, running Your hand over my body after You drop the bill on the floor, thinking of how different Your canvas will look when You are done. You reach into the bag and remove another hundred-pound note, this time deftly giving me a paper cut in the center of my left nipple, making me cry out a little at the pain. Chiding me, You say, “Now, now, slave – there are another 998 notes where those came from, and I will gag you if I have to! I intend to use every single one of these beautiful notes! Now open wide and stick out your tongue, little piggie . . . .” i obey, and You reward me with a deep paper cut in my tongue, to give a lasting reminder to another one of my senses how much i live to suffer for You, as my mouth is filled slowly with the taste of my agony. Another bill in hand, You open wide to demonstrate what You want me to do, and proceed to give both corners of my mouth paper cuts that sprout scarlet tears as You drop the note on the floor, giggling at Your handiwork thus far. Deciding that i am not being quiet enough, You saturate a dildo-gag with hot sauce and shove it into my mouth, fastening it firmly behind my neck. The look of surprise and discomfort in my eyes and the muffled noises earn a pleased smile from Your lovely face.
Satisfied that my pathetic cries of pain won’t be annoying You anymore, You begin in earnest to paint my body with needle-thin stripes left by each crisp, new piece of currency. No area of my body is safe, from my ears to the soles of my feet, You visit fresh pain upon me with each new hundred-pound note before dropping it on the floor. As You slide bills across my armpits, Your laugh becomes cruelly sadistic as You drag the edges harder, cutting into a sensitive area more deeply. Your eyes sparkle with diabolical glee as You squeeze the head of my little sausage, spreading open my urethra, so as to cut the ultra-sensitive spot. As You drop that bill, my tiny tool looks like it sheds a ruby tear, and You break into fits of laughter at the sight. When You notice the tears streaming down my face, it only makes You laugh harder and continue Your assault with happily sadistic zeal.
Most of the cuts are met with some muffled cries, but it is the more sensitive spots that give You great pleasure in seeing just how deeply paper will cut: the tender crotch area between balls and thigh, every centimeter my my sad, stiff genitalia, and between each of my toes; in those areas, You ensure that the moans become muffled screams. Eventually, i look like one big red mass of cross-hatching as the last bill deeply leaves its mark all the way around the base of the cock-head You love to torture, and the bill is dropped to the ground.
Brushing Your hands together and sighing, satisfied at a job exquisitely done, i begin to think momentarily You are done, when You pick up a spray bottle of rubbing alcohol and begin to liberally spray every wound with it. As i spasmodically scream, my body trembling uncontrollably in delicious, excruciating agony, You laugh sadistically as You watch the reaction to each fresh wound being disinfected. Tearing off my dildo gag and ordering me through Your teeth to open wide, You visit the same pain on my tongue and corners of my mouth, and into my eyes, and stand imperiously over me, basking in the abject surrender of such suffering beneath You.
Stroking my hair as You wait for the sobs to subside, You whisper in my ear about how proud You are of me, how much i have pleased You, and that goes a long way toward mostly stopping the tears. Once the tears stop, You kiss my forehead and tell me to shower off, get dressed, and clean up Your dungeon for You. i shower, dress, clean up the dungeon, pick up all the notes, and bring them into Your kitchen, where i clean the red off of each note, leaving them neatly stacked for You. A hundred thousand pounds would be well worth such a once-in-a-lifetime experience, Mistress. my only lament is that i am not in a position to make this a reality for You.