Obsessive compulsive order. Mistress Misery FemDom Story

Amazon Description:

Oliver Sandbrook had gone about as low as he ever thought possible. Lower.Then ‘She’ trained him to assist Her in bringing other people down to the same degraded state, completely and irreparably broken to Her Will. Then, as her final act of sadism, She made him love it. Then Mr Smith, a very eminent psychiatrist, offered to help him get over his addiction, his addiction. He knew the deep and dark nature of the human condition and was no ignorant fool to the taken advantage of by a woman how knew how to use her charms. The trouble was, this wasn’t just any woman…this was MISTRESS MISERY.

Extract:

Oliver Sandbrook couldn’t resist a smirk as he sat down and regarded Dr Vaughn Smith, behavioural psychiatrist, MD PhD LCSW, sitting opposite.

For all the generous dimensions of the man’s desk and the prominently displayed certificates of excellence behind him on the wall, he presented rather a pathetic spectacle. There was a sheen of perspiration on the bald top of his head and he trembled subtly all over, his eyes wide and afraid. Indeed, it looked for all the world as if their roles had been reversed; Oliver Sandbrook the composed, confident professional, and Dr Smith the suffering patient.

The psychiatrist looked quickly to each side, and then to the closed door of the spare consulting room, as if contemplating some sort of escape.

Some hope, thought Oliver, glancing up at the neat little webcam installed in one corner with a full view of the proceedings.

Apart from the state of the psychiatrist, everything spoke of an organised, safe space, nicely proportioned and tastefully decorated in warm but not oppressive hues of cream and dark wood. He remembered how nicely Dr Smith had gelled with that pleasant ambience on their first meeting. He recalled with a smile how attentive and professional he had been, his round bespectacled head intelligently inclined as Oliver had outlined his problems regarding being duped out of all his money by his online obsession with dominant women.

Oh, Oliver could tell that he was somewhat surprised by the details of the case he laid out for him that day, but he was Dr. Smith Ph.D, and he was confident he could cure anything from a behavioural point of view.

He was the ideal sort of victim for Her, Oliver reflected. Past middle age and very respectable, quietly wealthy, single or divorced. Comfortable and self-satisfied, with church or community affiliations. Much like Oliver himself had once been.

He drank in the tension, misery and despair in the man’s face, feeding on his helplessness and the unspoken plea for release, for some measure of mercy. His body tingled with the pleasure of it, the manifestation of Her Will made flesh, the focus and the fire and the altar glowing blissfully through his energised, rapt body. His mind thought of nothing but how to magnify this event for Her, how to increase Her pleasure, and so increase his own. He had no other interests.

He shuddered as he seemed to hear Her throaty, cold laughter in his head, and then her amused, low pitched voice:

Good bitch.

The pleasure of it thrilled through him, and his prick stirred pleasantly in his trousers. It was an unusual feeling as far as he was concerned. He was much more familiar with his cock coming up painfully within the confines of a chastity device whenever he got excited, which was a lot of the time. She had allowed him to release himself just for this one day. For this one job, because Mr Smith, Doctor of Psychiatry, was going to suck his cock and swallow his cum.

Ordinarily, Oliver would not have been excited by the thought of someone performing fellatio on him. His energy was all submissive in character, but because it pleased Her, that was all that mattered. 

Poor Mr Smith looked like he could do with a bit of emergency counselling as he stood up and stared his erstwhile patient, looking pleadingly at him for some sign that mercy was going to be forthcoming. Mr Sandbrook smiled a thin, humourless smile. Mistress Misery loved begging and tears, almost as much as She liked ignoring them, and he had likewise developed a taste for cruelty.

Oliver watched Mr Smith as he closed his eyes, buried his face briefly in his hands. He wondered if he was going to cry. Mistress Misery so loved tears. He glanced up again at the webcam. He knew that She would certainly be watching, enjoying it.

He knew that it would not only be the psychiatrist that gave her pleasure as he suffered and bent under Her Will, but she would be enjoying the way Oliver relished it, too, enjoying the pleasure and satisfaction that rose in him as the pathetic sight. The original Oliver Sandbrook had been known for his kindliness. The present one hardly remembered him at all. If he did so, his contempt for that former self was intense and total. He had known nothing then. Nothing till that fateful contact with Mistress Misery, his Goddess and Owner.

Dr. Smith had suspected nothing of course. Oliver did look a bit like a wreck of a man. Certainly, he could point to a wreck of a life. He had been quite wealthy once, with a house in a nice district, and the manager’s role at quite a large supermarket. He had been popular and effective, and didn’t really think much more about it. Even his divorce had left him essentially unaffected. It wasn’t till he had stumbled into Her orbit that he had been deeply touched at all. Deeply touched he had been, and he had given everything up to serve a Higher Power. He shared a rental with another of Mistress Misery’s slaves, and worked at a public lavatory full time. Life started when he was enslaved. Before that, he didn’t even know that he had a soul. Until She consumed it, ate it from the inside, left a vacant space. Until She filled the void with Her own Evil Energy, submissive bliss beyond any dream of fulfilment and happiness.

Just like this one, he thought, he knew nothing of the truth. Until now.

Oh, the man had been so sleek, so amused, so easy in his professional poise. So comfortable in his smart casual clothes. All that it took was one look at something that pierced him to the depths. Those glittering black eyes, staring at him. He shuddered as they suddenly appeared in his own mind’s eye, turning his insides instantly to mush, bringing fear, adoration, worship, inextricably linked, self-supporting.

He remembered how unsure the doctor had been when he had given him the link to Her site, written on a square of paper, and asked him to contact Her on his behalf. To get Her to leave him in peace and stop raping his wallet.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” he had gushed, nervously. “This is all confidential.”

But Oliver had pleaded with him to do so, arguing that he could use his credentials to convince Her that there was damage being done, that it was abusive and wrong. He had a moral right to do so, a moral obligation to do so.

After a period of this sort of argument, he had seen that Mr Smith was beginning to waver and he had smiled inside. He knew that the man would at least visit Her site, and then having been there, contact Her on his behalf, telling himself that he had no interest.

From that moment, he would be Hers. A new life would inevitably begin. A much deeper life. She would take him to places inside himself that he didn’t even know existed, for all his qualifications and research. And once She took him there, he would have no way to get back.

She had allowed him a glimpse of that initial meeting, no doubt to feed his own addiction to Her cruelty.

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Cruella Pain

I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.

I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.

I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.

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