Sad Sack

(This story is inspired by a couple of dominant Females I have come across over the years. If you do not enjoy extreme Femdomme / male submission stories, I suggest you stop reading now. For those who do, enjoy!)

'I did warn you. One more petulant episode this month and I said you'd spend the next 48 hours in Sad Sack.'

The look on his face said it all. He opened his mouth to say something but froze.

He knew better than to argue or plead with me -- the last thing he wanted was another whole week in Sad Sack, like he endured a couple of months ago. Two days is hard enough but seven days...I know that must have been a nightmare. He was physically and emotionally wrecked for days afterwards.

His bottom lip started quivering. That made me smile. Admittedly it was a rather mischievous smile.

Oh, how he loathes Sad Sack, fearing it more than almost every other punishment and training measure I use on him. Which is exactly why I love Sad Sack. Just mentioning Sad Sack to him and watching his reaction...mmm, yes, my smiles are just about inevitable.

'Well, forty-eight hours of Sad Sack is coming your way. And you can have a special hot-wax treatment and a head-shave to go with it.'

'Yes Mistress.' He grimaced and looked a little distressed. That's what projecting enmeshed with negative experiences can do to some people. Good thing he's one of them. Hehehehe...

'Go and get everything and set it up in the Room. I want the Pretty Miss Pink Sad Sack this time.'

'Yes Mistress.'

I looked at my watch and pressed the stopwatch.

'You have exactly five minutes. Quick, mustn't dilly-dally!'

'Yes Mistress.'

He hurried off.

I have four Sad Sacks, one in its natural hue, the other three dyed.

They each represent a theme: bottle green for gardening, yard work and other outdoor duties (great in hot weather!); red for intense bondage and discipline; mustard yellow for full nursery discipline and the plain one for a roulette wheel of anything that takes my fancy (that keeps him guessing).

Donning Pretty Miss Pink means he'll be doing plenty of domestic chores - cleaning, polishing, scrubbing, ironing and the like. (He does all the domestic chores anyway of course, though not normally in Sad Sack).

So, Sad Sack? Have you ever had a hessian potato sack or a burlap bag in your hand, felt the coarseness, the rough prickliness on your skin?

Now imagine your entire body covered in the stuff, a neck-to-toe bodysuit, with 'lingerie' to match. And imagine that 'lingerie' and bodysuit rubbing against your skin, not just for a brief brush, a tingle, but for hours and days on end as you go about the domestic chores I've set you, only to find yourself at night, exhausted, lying on a hessian mat in a cage, being endlessly irritated by what covers your body, sleep virtually impossible.

Yes, that is Pretty Miss Pink Sad Sack. Minus the 'lingerie', the other three Sad Sacks are similar in design -- and intent.

I looked at my watch as he hurriedly came back into the room and arranged various items on a table in front of the main wall mirror.

'Two minutes twelve seconds left.'

He dashed back out returning with the last items a couple of minutes later, including Pretty Miss Pink Sad Sack, which he quickly hung from one of the hangers in the room. Once he'd arranged everything he went and stood at attention on the yellow line painted in front of the same mirror.

'Twenty-four seconds over.'

I watched him swallow nervously.

'Fetch the number four cane.' It's four foot long, as thick as my index finger, heavy but flexible, and comes with a nasty, weighty, bite.

'Yes Mistress.'

I know, twenty-four seconds is hardly a lot, but I can't afford to relax my strict disciplinary regime. For both our sakes. And he knew it.

He dropped to his knees in front of me, bowed his head and lifted the cane up towards me in supplication. I took it from him, taping it to the right leg of my dark tailored trousers, enjoying the sound this made so close to his head.

'Timeliness is next to...'

'Goddessness, my Mistress.'

'Exactly. Strip, up and over.'

He stood up and quickly removed his slippers and all his clothes, placed them in a neat pile to his right and bent over, hands gripping his ankles. He moves fast when he knows what's best for him.

I walked behind him, back and forth for a minute or so, letting the tap-tap-tap of the cane on fabric and the click-click-click of my boots on the polished floor, do their tricks on his thoughts.

I stopped on his left side, turned and took up position, ready to strike his rear forcefully. I tapped the cane on his exposed bum a couple of times, causing him to jolt forward a little.

'Twelve strokes.'

'Yes Mistress.'

'Twelve strokes for the untimeliness. And four more for not rolling your socks up into a ball.'

I saw him glance over at the pile of clothes. He sighed.

'Yes Mistress, sorry for my tardiness.'

I do so love tormenting him. And running an extremely tight disciplinary regime gives me so many opportunities to do just this.

'Standards must be maintained at all times, mustn't they sub?'

'Yes Mistress. Again, sorry for my sloppiness.'

I didn't give any warning and there was no warmup -- each stroke was delivered in the same forceful and even manner, rhythmically, each separated by him thanking me and intoning the number of the stroke. It was all over in barely a minute.

He now had a matching set of two evenly spaced, deep red 'tram-tracks' across either cheek. I love symmetry. And trams -- ha!

I tapped him on his naked back. 'Hang the cane back up.'

He did so and returned to his position, naked at attention on the yellow line.

'Right, head shave first.' Through the mirror I watched him flinch a little.

I walked across to the far wall and picked out a stool for him, the one with the fine bed of small stainless-steel nails arrayed along the seat top.

I placed it behind him. 'Sit.'

He sat, and despite his obvious discomfort, made sure he sat bolt upright, arms resting on his thighs, hands forming little fists, his legs and feet together. Perfectly trained, if I do so say myself.

I picked the Wahl clippers up from the table next to me and removed the safety guard from the blades and put the Number One guard on.

I love head-shaves. It emphasizes my control over him, it reminds him of who is in charge. It brings him down; it depersonalizes and uglifies him. He's never liked them -- or short haircuts, full stop. Even more reason to subject him to them.

I've let his hair grow over the last couple of months -- deliberately so. When this happens it means the inevitable head-shave that follows takes on greater symbolic potency.

There's another aspect to clippering and head shaving, something I only discovered when I started on this caper with him five years ago. The sound and feel of those electric clippers...whoa!

I'll be honest, I get a deep power rush using them, leaving me more than a little moist. They're a fantastic way to emphasize who is in charge while humiliating your sub, believe me. Buzz, buzz...hmmm.

I looked at my gorgeously thick-bodied, dark locks in the mirror. Oh, such a contrast!

'Head down,' I commanded, and as he lowered it, I put my left hand firmly on his crown, directing his head down another few inches.

I flicked the black switch on the clippers, roaring them into life and touched his nape and began moving the blade upwards, watching the explosion of goosebumps erupt across his bare neck and shoulders. I looked at the scene in the mirror and couldn't help but smile back at myself.

In ten minutes, I reduced his hair to a simple dark fuzziness an eighth of an inch long. I straightened his head, removed the Number One blade and told him to keep his eyes open, fixed on the mirror.

I spent another five minutes working the vibrating machine over and over and over his scalp in slow, long and then short runs. This was as much about reinforcing his predicament as removing the last of his fuzz.

Flick, click and off. My hand was ringing from the vibrations. 'Keep your eyes to the front.'

I went over to the sink, picked up a steel bowl and filled it with piping hot water and brought it over to the table.

I lathed up the shaving soap on the table with a large pig bristle brush and started putting it over his darkish scalp in great creamy dollops and thick wafts of white swirls. In minutes his head was ready. I draped a small cotton towel over his right shoulder and picked up a fresh razor blade from the table.

'This is for your own good. You'll stay bald for at least the next three months so every time you see yourself in a mirror you can reflect on your behaviour.'

'Yes Mistress,' he answered quietly.

I never hurry with this - I want to dwell in the moment and I want him to dwell in the moment, both of us taking in the entirety of our dynamic. It's an incredibly special sensation, a manifestation of our total power exchange, and an experience in its own distinct way that I find highly sensual.

I could feel more than a little dampness between my legs by the time I finished removing the last skerrick of hair on his scalp.

I wiped the last of the soap away from his scalp and decided I needed an orgasm, bad.

I walked over to the array of dildos on the shelf and picked one up, fitting it into the leather face harness, the one with the five-inch cock-shaped 'dummy' on the inside.

My boots came off, followed by my trousers and panties. I couldn't be bothered removing my soft and comfortable navy-blue turtleneck.

I walked over to him and watched his eyes widen. 'Open up.' He obeyed and I fitted the cock-dummy into his mouth and did the harness up.

I went in front of him and moved my body in towards his face, bringing the nice black eight inch 'cock' into my cunt slowly.

'Okay, begin.' He moved his head forward and back, forward and back, slowly, the rhythm building until I slipped the sweater over his head and grasped it and pulled him in and began thrusting myself on that pleasure toy, harder and faster until I could contain myself no more. I exploded with orgasmic delight.

I hung on that cock, reveling in the sheer animal pleasure of the moment, cradling his head under the sweater to the warm, musky aroma of my sex. Oh, my pet, my dream-boy...he put his arms around my curvy bottom without saying anything; we stayed like this in tender embrace for a minute or so, in pure reverence.

And then I pulled back and out, freed his head, stepped back and pulled the sleeves of my sweater up my forearms.

Can't let him think I'm growing 'soft'. 'Best stay with that on for now. You can clean up that mess of hair.'

I liked the idea that he'd be staring down at the dildo while doing the cleaning. And enticed onwards by my aroma.

He stood up and stopped himself from moving, obviously feeling the pain in his rear.

'Wait.' I went behind him and looked over his backside, adorned with a fine mesh-like pattern overlaying those four identical tram-tracks.

'Oh, its beautifully 'geometric'. Maybe I'll look to add triangles next time,' I said with a laugh. 'Off you go.' He moved off to get the dustpan and broom.

I ambled over to the basin, ran some hot water into another bowl and placed the tub of wax into it.

He hardly needed much hair removed since he must shave his body every week, neck to toe. But that wasn't the point of this exercise. And he knew it.

Sometimes I'll hot wax his entire body; this time I didn't mention a 'full-body waxing,' which he knew meant that there would be just one focus to my waxing tonight. One that he was going to find most painful and uncomfortable.

I left him to his cleaning and disappeared from the room for a quick phone call to Mother. She was recovering from a dose of Covid-19.

I returned ten minutes later to find him back standing at attention in front of the mirror, the dildo still there of course, dominating his face.

'Turn around.'

I undid the head harness and as I pulled it away a spittle line formed between the dummy-cock and his mouth. I gave him a smile and handed it to him. 'Take it over to the sink.'

He was back in front of me in thirty seconds.

The next thing was to remove his chastity cage. I nonchalantly flicked it with my hand.

'How long has it been now since this came off sub?'

'Except for when I was in Sad Sack for that day last month, nine weeks two days, Mistress.' (Clever boy, he knows Sad Sack days aren't included).

'But who's counting!' I said with a laugh. I had him spread his legs a little and took the key from around my neck and undid the locking device, slipping the heavy steel contraption off quickly.

He's a BAV -- a Born Again Virgin. It's been that way for three years now. That designation means he's never going to fuck me - or any woman for that matter - ever again. Yes, it's the ultimate control a Woman can have over a man.

I do let him occasionally spurt but he never knows when, or in what form that may be. Maybe three or four times a year, max. But tonight is not one of those.

I dangled it in front of his face. 'Now you know just because this is off, it doesn't give you permission to touch yourself.'

'Yes of course, Mistress!' he said.

'So, what's worse, the chastity device or what's about to go over your little weeny with Pretty Miss Pink Sad Sack?'

He hated these types of questions; there was never a right answer, and he knew whatever he said could be - and usually was - used by me to add to his pain and torment.

He hesitated for a few seconds. 'Oh...they both have their difficulties and challenges Mistress. I can't really say one is inherently worse than the other.'

I love a good headfuck and now was the time to increase that pleasure packet.

'Mmmm, I'm not sure I like that answer. What if I added a chillie poultice to your little weeny pouch tonight?'

He visibly shuddered then his shoulders heaved and slumped before he closed his eyes and dropped his head a little. Oh, what a turn-on!

I gave him a good thirty seconds to dwell on the consequences of that addition before telling him to answer me.

'Definitely the chillie poultice packed into my little weeny pouch, Mistress.'

'Little weeny' was the only way I ever allowed him to refer to his 'appendage.'

'I tell you what. I'll be nice to you to tonight -- you won't get a chillie-willy treatment.'

'Oh, thank you, thank you Mistress, thank you so much!' he gushed. Which only fed my desire to fuck his brain some more.

'But as for tomorrow night...' I watched his expression freeze...'well, that is going to depend on how obedient and enthusiastic and thorough you are with all the tasks I've got lined up for you over the next 24 hours.'

I left my words to hang in the air and hover around his thoughts.

'So, best be on your very best behaviour...or else.'

'Yes, my most precious Mistress, yes, yes, for sure.'

Aww, how cute, he's entered the obsequious phase...ha!

But before any willy-pouches went on there was the business of the hot waxing.

There's often a little hair left over or a slight bit of regrowth after a man shaves the hair from around his weeny and balls. This is no bad thing -- you've just got to make the most of it. Which is what I was now going to do.

'Hands on head, legs spread wide, crouch to brace.'

I walked over and collected the hot wax and cotton strips.

'Maybe you want the dummy cock again? Hmmm, something to stop you from yelling?'

'Something to bite down on would be good, Mistress.'

'Then beg for your cock.'

'Please Mistress, may I have my dummy cock, please, please, please?'

'No, you silly boy. I want you to beg for cock!'

I knew how much he hated the idea of having a cock in his mouth, real or otherwise.

He grimaced a little before asking quietly for a cock in his mouth.

'A cock? Not dummy cock! I guess I could ring Mistress Andrea up and ask her to bring Mikey over...'

I could see he wanted to crawl away and hide. I chuckled.

'Oh, all right, dummy cock it is.' I went over to the sink and unscrewed it from the harness and came and stood in front of him.

'Open.' In went dummy cock.

'Suck, suck and suck. And if you don't suck good enough, you know I might just have to call Mistress Andrea...'

I picked up the first short piece of cotton and dabbed it in the warm amber wax. 'Time to make little weeny nice and smooth for Mistress.'

I bent down and rubbed it firmly on his scrotum, then immediately ripped it off in one pull. He gave an enormous, muffled cry despite the dummy cock. The same thing again each time I applied a strip.

After ten minutes of this I was finished, the skin on his weeny, balls and surrounds very red - and very smooth, naturally.

'There, all done. Now you're nice and smooth for Pretty Miss Pink Sad Sack. Isn't that good?'

He nodded an acknowledgment and muffled what I can only conclude was 'Yes Mistress,' to me.

*****

I went over to where Pretty Miss Pink Sad Sack hung and removed the matching willy-pouch, panties and bra set first. I handed the latter two to him while I bent down and put the firm though loose-fitting willy-pouch over his willy and balls, tying the sack-like bag off at the base.

Then came the panties. They were high cut and looked ridiculous, with pink satin panelling sown on both the front and rear of the hessian and pink lace trim and bows sown on each leg and at the waist. He stepped gingerly into these, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

Then came the thick wide bra, also with pink satin paneling, lace and bows, each cup filled with a dense, loose ball of the same coarse material.

Like the willy-cover both items fitted firmly though neither was skintight - if they were, that would lessen the torment and purpose of the exercise.

It's actually better not to have these or the bodysuit skintight - it means the fibres are sitting just off the skin surface and rubbing at it. The effect is constant torment, and made much worse on smooth skin, which he basically always has thanks to his weekly shaves. There's no relief, no escape for 48 hours. Complain, mope, show a lousy attitude and the treatment might just be extended.

'Very nice,' I commented as I squeezed the pouch and panties firmly, making him lose his composure and bend at the waist and knees.

'Go and fetch Pretty Miss Pink Sad Sack and bring it back to me. Quick smart.'

He darted over to where it hung and brought it back and passed it to me.

He still had the dummy cock in his mouth though since I adore making him own his own submission, I removed it.

'You want to wear this for me, don't you?'

He swallowed and said resignedly, 'Yes, Mistress.'

'That doesn't sound very enthusiastic sub,' I said in my best 'ominous' tone.

'Please Mistress, I would love to wear Pretty Miss Pink Sad Sack for you!'

'That's better. But why?' Head fuck, head fuck, head fuck.

He noticeably relaxed a little, took a deep breath and said, 'Because I deserve to after disobeying you. But most importantly Mistress, I adore being your submissive and having you rule my world. If wearing this, serves to please you and make you happy, then so be it.'

I couldn't help myself and laughed loudly. Right now, in this situation, he knew better than to laugh or smile back. Okay, that little speech will help him 're-calibrate' somewhat in preparation for his upcoming ordeal.

The thing is, me being extremely strict, demanding and controlling is exactly what he craves as a true submissive. He needs it, let alone wants it. Any softness or inconsistency on my part and he'll start getting confused, disappointed even. Before you know it, he'll lose himself in negativity, spin out, become lost. So, I give him what he most desires: my Dominance. And that makes him happy and content...after a fashion. Ha!