Almost bitchy

The night was tormented. At the appointed hour, I arrived breathless at Madame's door. My breathlessness was due more to my emotion than to the flights of stairs I'd climbed on foot.
I was greeted by a smile, as welcoming as the eyes were frozen. The outfit was refined, the make-up subtle. No doubt about it, I was expected! The first words tactfully and kindly placed me in my submissive situation. Madame had mastered the art of putting me in an uncomfortable situation, with a lot of humor, far from stereotypes and preconceived images. My questionnaire had been read. The questions and remarks stung like needles. With each remark, I lost a piece of clothing. I felt like a child of Mary whose hand was caught in the jam jar. I was naked in front of Madame, my sex at half-mast, ashamed.

After a shower, I presented myself at the salon door. The conversation we'd just had left me in no doubt as to Madame's professionalism. As I walked through the door, I was confidently entering a world of which I knew virtually nothing. Marie's child was about to be crunched.
The atmosphere was hushed. Electronic music filled the silence. I stood with my eyes closed, hands open, along the carpet. Madame placed her Virgin of Guadalupe in my hands. A souvenir from a trip to Mexico? I barely had time to feel the contours of the statuette before Madame attached a collar, soon followed by a leash... I was almost a dog.
With her soft voice she pulls me behind a curtain. Quickly on my knees, I rummage through Madame's collection of dildos. With my eyes still closed, I have to choose which ones I think will penetrate me. Suddenly I'm very modest... Too modest! Madame encourages me to be more ambitious. For a submissive who fantasizes about a fist, that's disappointing... My questionnaire has definitely been well studied. Big Berta will stay on the right.

One situation follows another in an atmosphere where the music gives rhythm to the torments, where breathing is synchronized to the bass emitted by the speakers. Madame mistreats my left nipple, sucking on it, biting it... I grit my teeth. I turn my face to her red hair. I smell her perfume, her closeness moves me. A few millimeters separate our skins.
She straightens up. Her gaze locks with mine. I thought we weren't supposed to look Madame in the eye, but she asks me to.

A few moments later, electrodes /from the electricity machine/ surround my sex. I was unaware of these practices. Is it painful? Luckily, the electrodes are placed on the glans and not on the testicles. I'm quickly disillusioned. Manipulating the electrodes moves the discharges all over my sex. With experience, Madame intensifies the signal, changing the rhythm and wavelength of the current that runs through my intimacy.
At every opportunity I rub up against her like a dog against its master's leg. I become a bitch.

Inserting the dildo collection into my ass leaves Madame wanting more. Clearly I've been pretentious. To spare my delicate anus, I'll be treated to a small vibrator that resonates with electricity. Slaps and spankings will probably make up for Madame's disappointment.
Armed with a riding crop, Madame corrects my testicles, which she has tied up beforehand. My spasms and screams make her laugh out loud. I struggle to swallow gulps of air laden with her juices. Repeatedly, Madame pushes away my hands, which were trying to get in the way and protect my two ridiculous balls. I'm torn between the immense pleasure of being Madame's seat and the pain of the blows.
Madame laughs. She seems happy, so it's a pleasure for me.

/.../

With infinite care, Madame helps me to my feet. We're back to being formal. We emerge from our bubble under the watchful eye of Marie, who hasn't missed a thing.

I loved those words whispered in the hollow of my ear. I loved telling her I was hers. I loved discovering her perfumes.
I loved the sensuality of our touches. I loved the energy she put into both preparation and execution. There was spontaneity but no amateurism.
I loved the pain she gave me with great restraint and respect for my abilities.
I loved his toys. I loved his imagination, which seemed limitless. I liked his language adapted to every situation. I loved his culture and his passion for the world of S&M.
I loved his freedom and open-mindedness.

Testimony of Ginger.