Outside noise receded as my internal monologue grew louder, demanding action.

With resolve in my heart and mind, I quickened my pace, ready to prepare my dungeon once more. Tonight would be delicious, yet simple, so long as my plaything was obedient. I got to work as soon as I brushed the last grains of sand from the arch of my foot and crossed the threshold to my domain.

---

Hours later, I surveyed my work: The St. Andrew's cross had been coarsly sanded, the leather shackles inspected and oiled to retain their suppleness. Long ago, I'd attached the whole cross to a frame, all the better to pivot my specimen to my liking. I gave it a whirl and it glided smoothly about, reminding me of a gyroscope.

Everything was perfect, except for my outfit. I hardly felt ready to utilize my strong body while wearing cutoff shorts and a white crop top. So, into my fetish closet I went! My sub was in for a world of pain that night, so I needed an outfit that was aggressive and feminine, yet wouldn't limit my range of motion.

I had just the thing. I pulled out my favorite sleeveless leather catsuit and carefully laid it on the bed, like a priceless heirloom. I prayed that I could one day pass it onto my daughter. She was already coming into her own as a Dominant under my guidance, but would she choose the path of leather and PVC? It was hard to say. She was too busy ballbusting to ask.

And I was too busy to be ruminating this long! With a playful swat to my own ass, I got my mind refocused and began stripping naked. As I peeled my panties down my thighs, I noticed how wet they were. I'd felt the warm slickness as I'd worked, but ignored it like the distraction it was.

Looking at it now, though, it looked like a gag to me. I set them aside and got out the baby powder.

When things are absurd, I laugh. Even when I'm the butt of the joke. Standing in front of my mirror with a bottle of baby powder in one hand and a catsuit(including ears and tail) in the other, looking like I was preparing to go to battle had me bent over with amusement.

Once I got started, though, all humor left me. The magic of putting on a snug catsuit works wonders on my demeanor. The next time I looked in the mirror I felt savage and ready to strike.

With a final kiss to my reflection, I headed downstairs to greet my painslut.

He stood in shock as I descended the staircase, drool pooling at the corner of his mouth.

"Brett! So lovely to see you again! I trust you've follow my instructions for preparation?", I asked.

It was almost an absurd question, as my little pet always followed instructions. But men are weak and you never know when they'll disappoint you in their excitement to get what they want. So I waited for his response.

"Yes, Mistress. Shaved, scrubbed, fully empty and clean bowels, no alcohol or drugs in my system, and the safeword is "Jabroni"," he proudly responded.

Like a coiled snake, I struck, backhanding him as hard as I could.

"You don't feel pride unless I tell you to. Understood?", I spat at him, my hand around his throat. Without missing a beat he affirmed that he comprehended and I released him.

"Good. Now. Downstairs with you, slut. I have a fun evening planned for myself and I'm eager to get started."

---

He stood, bound in place, ass out on the cross, naked, my panties wedged between his molars. The axis of the cross was locked into place, so I decided to show my pet my new surprise.

"I've been tinkering with my cross, though I doubt you noticed. Right now your cock is growing harder, pressing into the coarse wood with no place to go...and that simply will not do! So I cut a hole and made a hinged door for it.

"Before you get too excited, let me show you what I'm going to use it for.", I whispered in his ear. I let my hand trail across his jaw and then left his side to open the hatch.

His cock was about 6 inches long, and pulled through the hole easily. I took a second to stroke it gently through my leather-clad hands. This was the last moment free of pain it would be experiencing tonight.

With my actions completely obscured by the cross, I grabbed my basket full of sterilized needles and got to work. I uncapped the first, giggling as I angled his cock upwards, towards the top of the hole it was coming through.

Once it was pressed up against the wood securely, I pressed the needle through the tender flesh of his cock head and into the wood. Using my other hand, I grabbed a small hammer and tapped the needle into the wood as far as I could. It was weak, but I had more.

The painslut was holding himself as still as possible as I added needle after needle to any flesh I could find that would reach the cross.

I finished and sat back to admire my work. It truly was art. The pale creaminess of his cock, the red droplets of blood dripping to the floor...it made me feel whole.

"Try to pull your hips back, whore." I needed to see it. He did as he was told, seeming to pull as hard as he could, but I'd done well. Nothing budged and no area pulled hard enough to do permanent damage.

With a final pat on his sensitive shaft, I stood, walking around to look at his back.

It was perfectly healed from our last adventure, smooth and colorless like an almost-blank canvas. The only marks I'd made so far appeared in the form of beads of sweat.

After so much pain, it was expected, and exciting to me. That moisture was going to make his whipping even worse and I was ready to collect every last scream. My mind's eye swirled with scenes of flayed flesh, blood curdling screams, and pitious begging.

"Shall we get started, then?"

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