Tormented by Twin Dommes
Each often feels as if she is looking in the mirror when looking at her lover. The two women are not sisters. Aside from appearance, they share passion for each other’s bodies and kidnapping and enslaving men.
For them it is a continuing wonder to receive money for tormenting men. Being paid for pleasure. Each relish playing mind games with their victims. Their parallel appearances aid their cruel ruses.
One wears dark glasses and a blonde wig. She plays a kind woman. Her girlfriend is the mean girl. As her kindness vanishes, she discards her glasses, later the wig. The man sees the two becoming identical. Reality seems to be slipping away.
Both are happily sadistic.
Neither dated boys. They felt no desire, only revulsion for the clumsy, sweaty gender. Men inspire mockery, never affection.
Learning of the Femdomonomic subculture was akin to discovering the path to Eden. They made many Domme friends. Learned much from older Mistress Owners.
They learned that kidnapping and selling men was a profession. That instantly ended a nagging worry: what would they do for a living. They apprenticed under an experienced Domme. Then started their own firm.
At first things went badly. Abducting men was easy. But they played too hard. Broken men are not salable. They disciplined themselves. Work was not play. Sublimating reckless sadism left them able enslavers of the inferior gender. Their reputation spread. Customers are always ready to buy. Men they train sell for excellent prices.
In recent months they have specialized. They force-feminize men, sell them as maidservants.
The women grabbed the man hanging on the cross last night. In the morning, they confused him.
Afternoon passed as a series of long, harsh whippings. They focused on his backside. Welts on his buttocks and rear thighs sting and ache. He was so desperate. A perfect abductee. Constantly weeping, whining and begging. They laughed all afternoon.
The young Dommes are going to a costume party.
He will remain locked to the cross until morning. Sleepless, he ruminates on his fate. What tortures the new day will bring.
His ‘lingerie’ is special. The fabric is scratchy. He itches. Every movement, desperate wriggles for comfort increase the irritation..
His mind steadily weakens. Tomorrow morning, he will be malleable. Eager to do as commanded. Desperate for a moment’s ease.
Protocol lessons, some more whippings, he will be ready for the auction house.
The slavers have a wicked wit. They will appear at the costume party as maids. They are sure to win a prize.