Pain and Humiliation at Miss H's feet

gusset

New Member
Aug 25, 2002
44
0
0
Visit site
#1
Miss H
“WWWWOOOOOOHHHHH! I just love it She screamed, mmmmm when your skin dimples right in when I press my heel into it. Yeah it looks like it’s starting to hurt you a little bit now. Mmmm isn’t it gusset! And don’t you just adore it.”
Oh the pain, yes the pain. The wonderful pain She inflicts I quake and shiver beneath Her heels my whole being yearning for the sweet torture She will use. Her heels at this moment the centre of my complete and utter being, the stern tones of Her voice my universe. I would give up everything for this moment to last for ever, the rest of my life as Her rug, Her doormat, Her footrest…..Hey but you all feel the same, that goes without saying. So don’t need to relate that to you. But then the unfortunate folks that are still waiting I love telling you, you just got to do it you know. Most times I have to beg for Her heels, the black: beautiful black shiny shoes with the delicious heels and the so very nice and pointed toes. I love to beg before Her for this pleasure ‘ begging itself is a dream. I’ve never felt silly on my knees before Her. Before I was allowed this experience by my Goddess, in my fantasies I thought I may feel embarrassed…but that never happened, it has just always felt like heaven. Take tonight, I gets all the little hints, little verbal pops about small things and I get to shower first before She bathes. So I’m always naked and sitting on the floor in front of Her sofa awaiting Her presence. I’m fantasising all the time about what She will be wearing, and of course, is it shoes or boots, mmmm I love either. Hope I get to beg some more….a lot in fact, on my knees in front of Her feet ooooh I hope She’ll leave bruises. I love it when She makes out Her foot has slipped when rested on my thigh and Her heel gouges down the inside of my thigh and is so believable with it. But it happens a lot.
“Are you paying attention to me gusset?” She says.
“Yes, yes of course Ma’am.”
“Kneel up in front of me now, I want to dig my heels into your little bitch tits, that always makes that little dick of yours hardest. Although it is difficult to tell most of the time isn’t it. Yes I can’t believe how small you are and you used to tell me you were a big man.” She laughed at the pained expression on my face. “Now plead for my heels to begin their dance, plead for the pain my little man. Beg for my steel heels to ravage your little bitch titties. It makes me so pleased to see you beg, you are quite suited to it aren’t you gusset.”
Its not said as a question of course, She has known for so many years how I love to grovel and beg before her. Most everything She does to me I am required to beg for the privilege, beg to feel her heels digging into my thighs, gouging my chest. Plead to be able to lick the soles of Her shoes and grovel on my belly like a worm pleading to suck the stiletto heels. She loves to make me suck the heels of Her shoes, likes to hear me suck and lick like I am sucking on a cock. She tells me I am good at that and that Her stiletto’s are bigger than my tiny cock. We also have a small footstool, about 8 inches high which is perfect for me to kneel by with my thighs spread. A perfect place for me to rest my cock and balls on. Miss H keeps this for special nights, maybe when She is feeling a bit off. Her heels and soles are mean when they are crushing my balls and cock on here. I do have to beg for a long time for this. Miss H asks me many times if I want this gift, I beg almost till I am crying with frustration. But to feel Her beautiful feet crushing me is utter heaven.
When I’m on the crushing stool that’s when the humiliation starts, the verbal humiliation I mean. Miss H is an absolute artiste at this. Loving to belittle me as a man, mocking the size of my inadequate cock. “Four inches doesn’t really make you a man at all gusset Hmmmm. No not at all and those tiny little balls, perhaps I should call you peanut boy, after all they are not much bigger than peanuts.”
She delights in telling me that Her first husband had a 9 inch cock that always satisfied Her not like my pathetic excuse. The only satisfaction She gets from my cock is from stomping on it and slapping it. I think for satisfaction is caused more by the suffering that She causes me though. I love to provide that pleasure for Her, giving Her that pleasure makes me feel so alive. The more She abuses me physically and verbally, then the more that I adore Her
She loves to tell me that She needs a real man, not the pathetic excuse that I am. Usually I’m lower than a dog, unless you discount the times that I act as her dog (but that’s another story). I will never be allowed to fuck her again, the last time was six years ago now. I beg Her to take another man, I plead with Her often especially when She goes out with Her friends. “Maybe I already do little man,” She says, “Will you ever know…”. I beg Her to get a real man, I plead with Her, I tell Her that She deserves a real man as I am such a failure and disappointment. I don’t know how many times that I have begged Her to do this, to bring him home and show me how a real man fucks a Woman. I long to kneel by Her bed as She is serviced by a real man and to have Her make me beg to lick her clean afterwards. She says, “it is interesting thought gusset, maybe I will allow you it one time….”. I dream of the day. I’m not sure if She has or not yet anyway, sometimes when She has me service Her with my tongue when She comes home in the early hours, I’m sure that there has been a slight taste of sperm. I’m not sure and then maybe it is autosuggestion as I wish for it so much.
But I think (crossed fingers) that I have many years beneath the heel before She grants me that divine humiliation.
 

gusset

New Member
Aug 25, 2002
44
0
0
Visit site
#4
Here is another that I wrote a while back, will write some fresh as soon as I can

Miss H has just gone up to bed. Yesterday She was a bit ill and told me that I would write another part to our life, it doesn’t follow exactly on from ‘Miss H 3 – Friday night’, but I’m sure that won’t be a problem and the next part to that will follow in time – if you want. This is about the last three hours, it is now 23:59 Sunday May 5th U.K. Summer time.
I knelt at Miss H’s feet at 21:00 as She started to watch a TV show ‘Auf Wiedershen Pet’, She sat on the sofa, and I knelt at Her feet just to the left. She was dressed in a leather mini skirt (black), and wore a black and white strap top t-shirt/sports top; She wore 3-inch black leather court shoes and had shiny-type natural tan pantyhose on. I wore a black short Kimono dressing gown and lilac lace panties, the dressing gown belongs to Miss H and the panties She bought for me last Christmas. I feel so comfortable kneeling by Her feet: well you just know where I at right? Occasionally Her right leg, which was crossed over the other brushed against me as She swung Her leg. Sometimes She changed position and rested Her shoe on my thigh, lightly mostly but would occasionally rock Her foot back digging the heel into me. I watched the TV show along with Miss H, but sometimes I had my eyes closed, especially when the steel tip on the heel dug into my flesh. Then, with Her legs crossed once more, She raised Her leg so her calf was just below my face and Her foot was just to the left of my face. I couldn’t help but turn slightly and focus on Her foot. I knew my movement had been noticed and guiltily I looked back at the TV screen, from the corner of my eye I stole a glance at my Goddess, there was that look on Her face, you know, that look, that look of satisfaction, what would you say? Victory even? I hope so, because I think that tonight was the deepest that I have ever given myself to Her. I spoke to Her all the time tonight, all through the humiliation She gave me, all through the pain that She inflicted upon me, and She certainly done both tonight, and large. At one point I told Her that “Miss you are really hurting me.” God, and She said “Good.” Just that, A1, Fantastic eh?
Any way, the only other thing that we spoke of was Her concern that I was comfortable. Well you must be aware from that that I write that we are deeply in love. Is that a topic for the discussions? Do you have to truly love a woman to be her total slave? But I digress. I told her that I spent 100% of my time being concerned that She was comfortable, and that I knew She spent 100% the same way. So I don’t care how you treat me for the next 2 hours, for the next 2 hours don’t care how comfortable I am, because I am the most comfortable that I could ever be. Use me as a footrest, a rug if you want, treat me like a piece of shit, walk on me, spit on me, hurt me, kick me – whatever you like. I spoke like my life depended on it, I so desperately wanted Her to believe how much She was worshipped, loved and adored by me. How I belonged to Her, that how could I allow myself to wear a dog tag, that stated that I was the property of Miss H, Her property. You couldn’t could you?
When the show finished, I went to the kitchen and fetched Her some ritz crackers and cheese, as She felt like something savoury. I knelt the other side this time, I had nothing to eat. I knelt as She ate, I watched as She cut small pieces of cheese, then placed them on a cracker. I watched as She raised it to Her mouth, then slowly bit down, cutting through the soft cheese then crunching through the crisp brittle biscuit. I watched as if in awe, whilst She slowly ate four crackers. She cut a fifth piece of cheese and placed it on a cracker, suddenly She looked directly at me. “gusset. Would you like one?”
“Yes please Miss H,” I almost panted. “Good boy, here you are then.” I had to lean forward so that I could eat the cracker from between Her fingers, and when I had taken the food from Her hand, it remained held there so that I could kiss it in gratitude. Four She fed me in total, each one She subtlety held a little further away, so each time She fed me I was forced to lean a little farther too. By the time I kissed Her hand in thanks for the fourth time, I was kneeling on all fours. But then I was told to take the plate back to the kitchen, as She had eaten enough.
As I took my place kneeling back at Her feet, I told Her that it had just been like Her throwing me Her scarps from the table, throwing me a bone after She had stripped it of meat. “Yes, wasn’t it.” Was all that She answered.
I must get a digital camera, I would love to be able to show you the trample marks that are now on the tops of my thighs and across my chest. There is only slightly broken skin on my thighs, lots of red patches with slight scratches in, and other small horseshoe shaped heel marks where She dug her heels in. She never trampled me in the sense that I lay on the floor whilst She walked on me, but as She sat She walked on the spot on my thighs as I knelt before Her. After about ten minutes She felt between my thighs with her shoe, pressed on my cock and my balls. “Not hard yet slave?” “No Miss H, I’m a bit constricted at the moment.” “Well get undressed and get less restricted then.” I removed the Kimono, knelt up and slid the panties down my thighs worked them under my knees then off, I folded them as I had been shown and then placed them on the sofa at Her side. I knelt back down, then shifted slightly and slid my hands between my thighs and my ankles and knelt back. In this position, She trampled me for the next hour walking on my thighs as I described, then walking her feet up my stomach and chest given the same treatment. Several times throughout, Her heel slipped against me, I have three gouges, one on my chest and two on one thigh. I can look down at them now as I type. Sometimes they are almost like pictures. It was during this time that Her dominance above me moved up knotch. I am sure that any doubt about Her superiority that possibly existed (probably only in my mind) had disappeared. When I said that She was really hurting me a lot and she’d just said good, and carried right on doing it. I definitely knew that I was truly Her slave. She told me to shag her leg, “rub against it like a little dog, I want to feel your little worm rubbing against my pantyhose, and I want to hear you pant so that I know your putting a proper effort into it. That’s it gusset, move then hips, work them for me, that’s a good boy. You know you really do need to have some sort of a tail that you could wag for me, to let me know how much you are enjoying it. Kneel back now, I want you to wank for me, jerk that little wiener for me. Jerk it for your Goddess, whilst She digs Her hard heels into your thighs. Does it feel good slave, does it hurt too much, Aaah it’s good to see you wince and to hear you grit your teeth, I enjoy that so much. That’s it boy jerk it harder for me.” I rubbed my cock for all I was worth, I didn’t think I could hold out much longer. “Come for me, you worm. Rub that little wiener, rub it for me you piece of shit.” Fuck, and I just came there and then, when She clicked Her fingers several minutes later, I willing lowered my head to Her feet and licked the now cold gobs of my come from her shoes, then sucked the wet patches where I had sprayed Her pantyhose when I came. “Good dog, good dog.” She patted my head, and went off up to bed, telling me that I was to come to bed later.
 

gusset

New Member
Aug 25, 2002
44
0
0
Visit site
#5
Just some public humiliation in this

Miss H does love the humiliation as much as I do but I think She prefers inflicting the pain most. She knows how much I live to suffer at Her divine feet that I can sense Her own pleasure and scent it too a lot of times, it shows in Her eyes as well.
She rarely goes in for public humiliation, we are after all very much in love and our life is private. She did it once a few years back that was simply fantastic. It was buying a collar and leash at ‘Pets at Home’ a large pet supermarket. I had wanted Her to buy one for a long time and as my birthday was coming up She relented and off we went to the store to buy one. As it was a large store it was not easy to locate the collars and leads straight away, it was also mid-morning Tuesday so fortunately for me I later discovered was quite quiet. A middle-aged female assistant asked if she could help and led us to the correct section.
She asked what type of dog we were looking for a lead for. Miss H said it was quite a large Alsation Hound whose neck was about the same size as mine. The assistant took down a few collars and asked if there were any which we liked. Miss H led the conversation as usual and picked several out. She then asked the assistant if it was ok if we tried them for size, she looked a bit non-plussed at first but Miss H said again the dogs collar size is the same as my husbands so he can try it for size. I think a light of realisation appeared in the assistant’s eyes then and she said yes that that was perfectly all right and could she help. Miss H took the first collar and beckoned me with her finger, I bowed my head and She fastened the heavy leather collar round my neck. I felt very panicky, being like this in a shop in public. Miss H and the shop assistant were totally at ease and chatted about the merits of the collar that was now around my neck. It felt heavy and very restrictive but at the same time very comforting as I was wearing it to please Miss H. We tried several more that took Miss H’s fancy – I had no input to this and was rarely included in the conversation. Miss H plumped for the second one we tried, a heavy tan leather collar with flat metal studs around it and a heavy ‘D’ ring for the leash.
Would Madam like to try a leash now? Try for size and feel? She selected a few again and Miss H held each and weighed them up. She was torn between a chain link leash and a thich leather leash that matched the collar. Eventually the assistant suggested that ‘perhaps Madam should try them for size’
Miss H liked the idea, looked at me and clicked Her fingers pointing to the floor. I did resist, for although the store was virtually empty, that could change at any time. ‘gusset! Do not embarrass me’. The tone was enough, it was not said loudly at all, just the firm assertive tone that makes me helpless and gets my little wiener stirring. I sank to my knees and Miss H attached the leather leash to the collar. ‘Down boy, She giggled and I was quickly on all fours. The assistant found this highly amusing and joined Miss H in her laughter. The leash tugged and Miss H led me a few steps, then tightly tugged the leash back bringing me to a halt. ‘Hmmm yes this one feels very nice in my hand, feels very strong as well, yes I quite like this. I will try the chain though as I do like the sound it makes’. She quickly swapped the leashes over and much to the hilarity of the shop assistant quietly said ‘walkies Fido’, and led me for another few steps. Miss H decided to take both leashes and the collar, as She could not decide between them. She uncollared me and I was allowed to get up, the assistant smirked at me. She spoke to Miss H and told Her that we had really made her day, she hadn’t had such an enjoyable morning in a long while. We made our way to the check-out and as I was paying for our goods, the assistant came up to us. She had picked up a plastic squeaky toy bone, this she handed to Miss H and said she thought that Fido might enjoy playing with and giggled. Miss H accepted this and had to agree, they both laughed together. We left the shop after that, me carrying the bag, holding it in front of me trying to cover the little flag-pole sticking out in front of me.
‘No need to try and cover that up gusset, shouldn’t think anyone would see it if they tried, do you. Still it is very nice to see that you enjoyed it, Hmmm call it an early birthday present if you like’.

Other than this, there have been very, very few instances of public humiliation. Miss H is far more subtle than that and prefers more subtle ways