As a Goddess of international fame and intrigue, I love to travel, explore and see the world, especially if given the chance to do so in the company of My fellow Female Dominants. Here, many of Us gather at a festival in a quaint picturesque village, a place well known for it’s off beat customs, eccentric practices, and unconventional offerings, all centered about the unyielding principle of absolute Female Supremacy and male surrender.
Vivid trees dot the languid cobblestone lined streets, which are all filled with exceptional shops and unusual emporiums. Stores here display the finest latex, the most select leathers and a unique assortment of domination accessories any Mistress would treasure in owning. One elegant boutique I enjoy browsing, is the infamous “Gag Shop.”
The gag shop
On trips such as these, I only allow My most worthy collared slaves to accompany their Goddess to such a devious store. These well trained worshipping devotees consider themselves to be the luckiest minions and drudges on the planet, as they heel in follow to My step. Like many slaves, you will notice here this weekend, mine are hooded as well, devoid of sight yet allowed the sense of audible sound. Thus, they remain glued to My left side, led only by the striking staccato clicks of lofty stiletto heels. Like any male dog walking on all fours, the locking neck collars are attached to a leash, this one made of velveteen braided gold and sliver rope. For this walk, my slave’s nipples are also sadistically connected to the leash that leads up to my leather gloved hand and wrist by a wicked set of clover clamps. Still, I never have to tug on the rope unless I am signaling the slave that W/we are moving onward. Otherwise, My shoes and scent keep him in obedient stay.
On this airy spring morning, one can see a plethora of fine Female Superiors in the village square. Across the street, Mistress Akella is outfitted in a full black leather jacket and black slim pencil leather skirt. Her sparkle gray almond toe pumps glisten in the sunshine, and the same gray accent is reflected in the weave of Her Australian stock whip handle. She leads Her slave by a lash attached to his balls, as he crawls down the street with a carriage crib adhered to his backside and piled high with Her recent purchases. The smile on Her face radiates pleasure at his plight.
I pause in front of the Gag Shop’s lone nine pane display window, and my slave instinctively freezes the second I stop walking.
Through the glass one can plainly see the stunning outline of Madame Catarina, as She inspects a solid silver full metal head gag outfitted with a wide attached funnel. Her fiery red gloved fingers caressing the broad brimmed bowl perched high above the crest of the hood. Her right hand holds the leash ultimately leading down to Her slave, one whom is totally encased in a full body leather suit. The thick leather roller cinch straps that bind him are pulled as tight as the dense leather hood encompassing his entire head. The slave is sightless and totally isolated from any of his surroundings. Perspiration seeps out of every seam of this leather suited prison, yet Madame Catarina shops seemingly without a care in the world. In the far distance, by the checkout register, stands a Woman in finely tailored white suit, white pumps and a delicate white broad rimmed hat. Her face is tuned away so I can’t truthfully make out whom She might be or what She is purchasing.
My attention returns to the two gags on display in the store’s front window. The left hand gag solidly covers a slave’s vision and is constructed with an adjustable metal band that will pinch off a slave’s nostrils in his nose cavity. This evil band forces the slave to breathe completely through his mouth alone, yet the simple ball gag attached to this device is wide and imposing. Deliciously too wide for any normal sized mouth. It’s shear size will make breathing difficult, while any speech out of the slave’s mouth will be completely stifled. The gag on display, directly to it’s right, is purely torturous in nature. The full leather hood has removable eye blinders, yet the mouth piece gag, which rests across the slave’s forced open mouth and lips, is constructed with a Violet Wand attachment. How wonderful for the Superior, press a button and watch the sparks fly between the slave’s moistened lips. Pure sadistic persecution to say the least.
I motion for a sale lady to come closer to the window. I point at the ball gag hood on the left. My reason for doing so is simple. Last night this slave was ordered into My “Wait” position and he spoke before being spoken with. Later that evening the same infraction occurred in “Punishment” position. I publicly plan to punish him for these violations later this evening at the Femdom festival. This slave might enjoy My single tail whip kisses, but he can’t endure the bite of my rattan cane. In truth, he fears it and cries intensely when he is beaten by My cane. The gag will keep him quiet as he struggles to breathe through the massive mouth ball. My only real concern is that he will pass out far too soon resulting from shortness of breath. Thus, I will diligently pace Myself tonight as he must come to understand why he is being punished.
The sales lady carries the gag outside for My inspection. The smooth and shinny latex hood is thick and the backside 12 inch zipper strong and easy to close. The metal band that collapses the nostrils is purely ingenious in design. The ball gag would stuff any slave’s mouth to the brim. I love the look of the device. I finger lift up my slave’s head up to reveal his credit card attached to his collar. The sales lady smiles and soon returns with my purchase neatly gift wrapped in a delightfully decorated “Gag Shop” bag.
I attach the slave’s credit card to his collar and then proceed in tugging upon his leash. Forward W/we walk to the next store I wish to visit just down the street. In the mean time, the sun has transversed from morning to early afternoon and across the square I again notice the brilliant white authoritative figure. It’s the sublime Lady Victoria Valente. You can sense Her extreme displeasure with Her slave, that has dropped and spilt Her recent purchases out onto the street’s surface. She is calmly, yet with increasing veracity striking the end of Her lethal riding crop, into Her leather gloved right hand. Her slave, though hooded has sight of his irritated Lady as he coils in alarm and panic. I wonder if I will witness the wrath of Her punishment right here and now or later this evening on the festival grounds. I tend to believe it shall be both. Poor fellow, you know he deserves it.
So does My slave. As a Goddess and Mistress I never forget a slave’s transgression. Above all, I relish the change to correct such behavior.
Read the fantasy from My friends’ perspective: