Second Gate: INTERROGATION
From Sensory Deprivation, the consenting captive travels in his imagination. His Mistress toys with his senses of perception, enhancing the recovery of hearing with electric stimulation which she will gradually turn into an ordeal as she interrogates him in this role-play.
You can listen to the podcast on my Youtube channel from 17:00 GMT today, Thursday 21th April 2022
The power of Sensory Deprivation: Left alone in an underground small interrogation room, the consenting captive maps his surroundings from the confinement of a leather hood. From his sightless and near soundless stance, he is ushered into the mysterious erotic, fetishistic multiverse of his soul.
![slave [¥] consenting captive in isolation in the interrogation room at the Residenz Avallon in Berlin](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/524c0931e4b0dfdf24ad1751/127b31f3-d04f-4350-a1ef-697a05e19676/berlin_captivity_1.jpg)
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The room is small… Bare stone walls… A low ceiling it seems. Heavy like a casket lead. There is an almost imperceptible draft coming from above and behind your head.
A powdery scent of bricks and dry mortar merges with the leather of the hood.
The chair is narrow and hard. You feel the vertical ridges pressing on your spine, the horizontal metallic lip digging between your shoulder blades, your arse pinned down flat against the seat by a series of tight belts.
Your arms are held on your side along your torso by more belts. Your wrists in fetters.
Your legs are spread apart and the calfs forced on the outside of the chair, Maintained in this position by ankle cuffs hooked to the wrists.
Your feet can’t touch the floor.
The soft wool of your smart midnight blue trouser suit and the Egyptian fine nearly salmon pink cotton shirt impart the last sensation of luxury, a contrast to your bare feet.
Silence
How long have you been thrown in this vault?
Where is your jailor, your divine tormenter, where is your Mistress?
Silence
The cohort of beautiful succubus dimly appears in the vast emptiness of your mind, as if behind a screen made of smoky veils.
In shiny black rubber catsuits and hoods, they march holding torches across your field of vision in a solemn procession.
Behind them, a long line of harnessed naked males in heavy metallic fetters follow. Each man is led on a metallic leash linked to their collar by a masked leather-clad female in crotch thigh boots, waist cinched in unforgiving tight corsets and long black velvet cloaks and hoods.
Lust unleashed by the bounds which seem to penetrate your flesh and inflame your feverish mind is fuelled by the utter helplessness of your situation and the tantalising mirage.
The procession, which minutes ago was so far in the distance, is surrounding you now. You feel the rising heat of the torches and…. a flash
First steps into wholeness: A paradox created by the partial return of sight. How contrast and disorientation heighten sensations and impel the consenting captive into his body, into the present, into the reality of his circumstances and his emotions. He is now poignantly aware of his separation and his yearning for connection with his Dominatrix.
You are harshly returned to your circumstances when I remove the blindfold and you stare into the blazing white glare of a tungsten Fresnel spotlight.
A wave of sensations follows fast the optic intrusion, streaming from everywhere at once, engulfing your fantasy which disappears pulverised in a million glittering black specs.
You are reconnected with your body:
The hardness of the chair
The cold horizontal bar tracing a line across your shoulders
The belts constrict your torso and your thighs
the weight of your legs supported by your cuffed wrists.
the cushioned leather of the collar and cuffs.
the space around you at the edge of the blaze.
the tingling of your chest’s skin gradually exposed as I unbutton your shirt and part it.
The next wave is a feeling one, brief, fragmented, flitting, raising from your diaphragm:
expectation, excitement, fear, hesitation, defiance, powerlessness.
They cycle through your guts and sometimes float to your awareness, wordless but not meaningless.
Simultaneously, random thoughts appear in your mind, intertwined with the rolling, spiralling feelings, but quite disconnected from them. Some are completely incongruous, some perfectly relevant.
Amongst it all, is the encompassing wish to see me. to be anchored by my visual presence, to witness the incarnated icon.
But swallowed in the incandescence, you can not see me.
Separate still
Sinking into submission: adjusting further to the reality of the Interrogation room is a hazardous affair. The consenting captive is thrown a metaphoric barb-wired thread by his Mistress. After hours of solitude, her voice lures him in opposite directions: The harshness of the interrogation and the recollection of countless encounters with her alluring presence. As he stumbles between his desire to answer her questions, his unconscious mind resists by repeatedly distracting him into imagining his beguiling captor… It is a delight for his Mistress to see him hopelessly and unconvincingly wage a war he’ll lose.
I remove the plugs from your ears:
![slave [¥] endures nipple torture and sensory deprivation in the interrogation room at Residenz Avallon in Berlin](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/524c0931e4b0dfdf24ad1751/647c585a-120b-468c-893a-a581629ed3c1/DSCN7323.jpg)
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Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.
The space of the room is suddenly revealed by my precise, pragmatic, detached voice.
I don’t leave you time to ponder.
WHO ARE YOU?
The words bounce in the exiguous space.
WHO ARE YOU?
you stumble… from sensations to thoughts that you are trying to align as you utter your name, surname, age, sex, place of residence….
“Is this what you have been asked?”, you hesitate….
WHO ARE YOU?
Instead of concentrating on my question which you obviously have not comprehended, you try to distinguish what I am wearing past the driving black leather gloves that you can see.
Trousers? Tight pencil skirt perhaps? austere dress? pristine white shirt? a tie maybe? or the signature Lavallière? A jacket? You’ve glimpsed the black cuffs of a cashmere jacket a minute ago. What cut? Maybe I am only wearing a delicate lace bra under a fitted riding jacket?
WHO ARE YOU?
Now there is impatience in my voice.
You desperately want to see the mouth that utters the command.
My mouth, my lips stained with oxblood pigment.
You mumble the same answer as before distracted by your desire to see me and your arousal at my tone. As the desire threatened to confuse you again…
SPEAK CLEARLY! I command whilst taking the tiny magnetic balls biting your left nipple.
A grimace contorts your face as you recoil from the sharp pain of blood flowing back to the flattened nipple.
You yelp and mumble again your identity.
TRY AGAIN
And I remove the other pair of minute magnetic globes.
This time, the acuteness of the release flies to your brain, retracing the open synapses and at last provokes the response you know I expect.
With this illumination, the ferocious sensation radiates and morphs into ineffable pleasure.
WHO ARE YOU? I am Your slave Maîtresse.
Fun with sparks: In, comes Fairy Electricity, Mistress’s little helper. How the morphing currents of electrics applied in a spiralling crescendo open the consenting captive’s imagination aggravating a full erection. How the intensity of pain sharpens his mind and assists him in delivering true answers to his Mistress. Thus creating a win-win situation.
As you talk, I untie the belts that pinned down your thighs, unzip your trousers and pants and uncover your genitals.
On the wooden surface of the desk, there is a black box, a tube of lubricant gel and several metallic rings ready to be plugged.
Through the first one, the biggest I push your balls, I slip the second just at the base of your erection and the third one beneath the crown of the gland.
The polished circles gleam in the pool of coruscating light now erasing me from your sight as I seat across you with a small remote control in my left hand.
The tingle of electricity nibbles and awakens as it rises in intensity.
WHY ARE YOU HERE?
You have brought me here to serve you and been trained, you answer without a pause.
The pattern of the current keeps changing, lineal, fragmented symmetrically, wave-like, fragmented randomly, accelerated, an increasing wave. fragmented… You follow the shapes and intensity.
NOT A BAD RESPONSE… BUT THERE IS MORE
I am here because I want to experience complete submission.
The intensity is rising to the point of metallic sharpness bringing saliva to your mouth, your breathing becomes shallow as the infernal rings propel you from pleasure to pain.
HMMM. LET US TRY ANOTHER QUESTION, SHALL WE?
ARE YOU PREPARED TO SURRENDER?
As if highlighting my words, I augment the intensity, steadily sending a crescendo of sparkling, sharp bites of fire which makes you groan louder.
You close your eyes concentrating on the biting, burning circles and fall into a semi hallucinating space where sensations dance and merge.
SURRENDER
my voice seems to emanate from the light and follow the capricious discharges of current.
The Cohort crystallises in your mind and the gorgeous army of formidable women surrounds you once more.
ARE YOU PREPARED TO ACCEPT THE RULE OF THE DIVINE FEMININE?
You see my eyes appearing in the blazing light, two hypnotic lustrous black pools where all the passions scintillate in an otherwise inscrutable gaze. Your cock is so engorged, so very near….
bewitched, you try to examine the contradiction when a slight, sharp slap brings you back to your sorry state.
WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF?
WHAT ARE YOU ASHAMED OF?
WHAT ARE YOU THINKING NOW… The intensity sharpens and gradually stops
I don’t know, I don’t know. I want to see you Maîtresse.
YOU’VE FORFEITED THE RIGHT TO HAVE A WILL INDEPENDENT FROM MINE REMEMBER?
Yes, Maîtresse.
WHY ARE YOU HERE?
“Because I delight in Captivity, surrendering responsibility and power and all the accoutrements of masculinity to you Maîtresse” REMEMBER? I announce as I remove the electrical implements, unhook the karabiners attaching your wrists to your ankles and unbuckle your belts.
The consenting captive must now disrobe in front of his Mistress: The last metaphor - of the day - to emphasise the nature of his voluntary confinement and the stripping away of his male ego. CFNM
Make it stand out
Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.
The blessing of verticality after an eternity of bondage! You stretch with a long deep breath. enveloped in the warm cloud of my scent.
You stand and push your seat along the wall as I have just ordered, then you return to standing at attention: your hands interlaced at the back of your neck, your elbows wide open, your shoulders low. Legs slightly apart, eyes lowered.
I am seated now atop the desk, near the electrical box
You can see the dark burgundy gleam of my patient stilettos as I cross my ankles, the imperceptible black veil of the nylons which embrace my calves and the leather hem of my skirt.
STRIP NOW
Starting with the shoes and socks as I have taught you, you remove the costume of suave male elegance folding each item carefully and giving me your cufflinks, watch, telephone, wallet, glasses and belt.
And wait naked in “inspection”.
I tie an old stocking around your tight balls and erected cock, then a hemp rope in which I have tied a loop which presses on your perineum, then circles your cock and balls again before each end is pulled accross your hips and tied at the back,
NOW KNEEL IN “OFFERING”.
You kneel as ordered: Your brow touching the ground in between your forearms. Your hands face up in a position of offering. Your back elongated, your buttocks exposed by the parting of your knees. Your feet together.
DO NOT MOVE. MEDITATE ON THE NEXT GATE TO CROSS
And I exit the room.
To be continued
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