The night Mistress Dévine shared me with her friend

This is a story about the time Mistress Dévine decided to share me with her friend. It gets quite intense, both physically and emotionally, and I needed some time to process it before I could write about it with clarity. Now it’s complete — ready to be seen, unfiltered, as it unfolded in me. However, reader discretion is advised.

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It all started with her Wednesday plans. She was intending to go on a date. Unusual for her, a vanilla date, which sparked my curiosity, mixed with perhaps a trace of jealousy. She described him as a handsome and well-spoken Frenchman. He wasn’t submissive, however, he was respectful and curious about her lifestyle.

When you develop a taste for spicy food, even a good steak can taste bland. So I guess she wanted some spice when she decided to involve me in her plans. I was told that on Wednesday I should wear chastity, cover the costs of Her appearance (hairstyle and nails), think of Her for the whole day, and even spend some time on my knees during the highlights of Her evening.

However, Goddess (her expression for destiny) had other plans. As strange as it may sound, that man decided to cancel on her. So she made another plan.

She invited her friend Mistress May to dinner. They went to a high-end restaurant as I waited at home to receive the bill.

At some point, I received a text to strip down and get on my knees.

Some time later, I received a four-second voice message:

“He is literally waiting on his knees…”

And they both laughed.

Then I received their bill, which I instantly paid. I enjoyed the contrast between my reality and theirs. I imagined them — fancy and mischievous — laughing at the idea of a kneeling man serving them, paying for them, being used. Who would have thought, looking at them at the restaurant? There is a lot of magic hiding beneath the surface.

Apparently, they had a great time. They shared many edgy stories and ideas. It made me wonder how eager I’d be to eavesdrop if I were a stranger at a neighboring table, and how marked I’d be for life after hearing them.

One of their ideas was to share me on Saturday.

“You’re a very lucky puppy,” she told me. “The Goddess must have blessed you.”

I’ve adored women my whole life, so that might actually be the case.

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Saturday came around. It felt like one of those big days — long anticipated, yet somehow still just another day.

I met my Mistress in the luxurious apartment that I had booked. It had a spacious living room, a big sofa, a large table; everything needed for proper servitude. She seemed pleased, yet perhaps slightly anticipatory.

She was extremely serious about her instructions. When Mistress May arrives, I am not allowed to talk, move, or even look at her. I would be precisely instructed what to do. Nothing more, nothing less. I better not embarrass her.

The word stuck with me, as it sounded quite heavy. I couldn’t even imagine how horrible that would feel.

As I was preparing the table, she decided to watch some porn. I’ve never met a woman who would so casually indulge in her sexual pleasure, and I can’t even describe how hot that is.

I lay at her feet. She placed them on me as she continued pleasuring herself. I wasn’t important; I barely caught her attention. She, on the contrary, was the focus of mine, as I lay motionless in her presence.

The doorbell rang. Mistress May had arrived.

I was placed in the middle of the room, kneeling and facing the floor. As instructed, I wore only my underwear, with a chastity cage beneath it.

They spoke as if I weren’t there. I stayed motionless; I didn’t even dare move a finger, not to disappoint her.

“Alex, greet Mistress May,” I heard as her boot was placed in front of my face.

I kissed it. The first kiss was cautious, and then, as it stayed there, I continued. She kicked me away.

“That’s enough,” she said.

Her voice sounded shy, but her actions surely weren’t.

They sat on the sofa as I lay underneath. They continued their conversation. I was completely forgotten, ignored. At some point, they placed their shoes on me. I felt grateful for that.

There was a profound intensity in the sensation of Mistress May’s boot resting on my arm. I hadn’t even seen this woman before. I hadn’t spoken a word to her, I hadn’t introduced myself; I was deprived of any display of human existence. Yet she had seen me — my almost naked body — lying on the floor and crawling around as instructed. She took me for what I was: nothing more than a servant, as she rested her boot on my arm.

I focused on that sensation. On the texture of it, on the weight placed on me, on Her superior presence above. I was told she was beautiful, but I wondered how much. I had no perception of her appearance, and there are so many spectrums of beauty. All I could feel was the weight of her boot.

They were sipping wine, talking about some man she fancied and about a party she would attend later. I liked the fact that I wasn’t in their way at all. They felt completely unrestricted in what they meant to talk about. I liked the moments when they repositioned their feet, so I could feel their shoes being placed on me once again.

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At some point, their conversation turned to me. And for some reason, I began to feel somehow uncomfortable.

I assume that was due to the fact that I hadn’t been this dehumanized before. I enjoyed being their footstool and all that, but in a way, I also felt vulnerable and exposed. In all my submissive encounters before, I was in some way accepted for my qualities. I made an impression; I kept my head held high before lowering it willingly. I might have been demeaned, but I was also admired at some point. But this time, I was truly stripped of humanity from the beginning.

This was always my deepest fantasy — what I imagined when I watched femdom porn or fantasized about fictional real-world encounters. And yet, experiencing it for real felt somehow colder than imagined.

I think the most emotionally intense moment was when I was instructed to raise my head — when I was finally allowed my first look at Mistress May.

I was still kneeling. I took a few deep breaths before opening my eyes. Her eyes were looking straight into me. Yup, she surely was beautiful. But what I felt was so much sharper than simply locking eyes with a beautiful woman. I felt exposed — not only as a person, that part was mostly gone by now — but also as an essence. I was stripped of the shield of my personality. I was there, in the open. Inferior, surrendered. And the night had just begun.

As their bottle grew emptier, they became playful. My Mistress was displaying our toys and their use. Her friend was amused. I was again instructed to face the floor, so I couldn’t be sure who was whipping me, but it didn’t really matter, as they were both fully involved.

I simply endured — one sting after another — as their laughter echoed above me.

“What else shall we do to him?” Ms Devine asked, once the whips were no longer amusing.

“Why don’t you kick him?” Ms May said without hesitation.

“Yeah? Like this?” Ms Devine said as her stiletto hit my ribs.

“Kick him harder,” Ms May shouted in amusement.

So I was kicked from side to side, and although it hurt, there was a twisted pleasure in being handled so harshly by such beautiful shoes, worn by such beautiful Mistresses.

Next, they walked on me. Ms Devine’s stilettos were much crueler than Ms May’s boots. Their sharp heels were leaving marks on my body; her beautiful figure above me was a painful sight to watch.

I like the concept of stilettos. Such a thin line between Her and the floor beneath — and such a painful sanction.

Ms May was not gentle either. Her boots walked up and down my bare body, and as if sensing I wasn’t far enough beneath, she even jumped — full force — as if to hammer me into the ground.

I like the idea that her pre-drinking involved jumping on a man she hadn’t even met.

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They sank back onto the sofa, catching their breath and pouring another glass of wine. I stayed on the floor beneath them.

“Oh, by the way, have you ever seen a chastity?” Mistress Dévine asked Mistress May.

Surprisingly, she hadn’t. So I was instructed to remove my underwear and display it. She was intrigued. She held it in her hand and turned it left and right.

I felt exposed. I was locked, reduced, and examined like an object by a gorgeous woman who was still a stranger to me. Part of me felt overwhelmed. My body was there, on display as instructed, but my soul seemed to retreat. But another part of me fucking loved it. I was truly taken, objectified, by two beautiful but cruel women who were having a great deal of fun treating me this way.

I’m not sure if I was ever as split between enjoying something and being terrified at the same time.

They removed it. I was soft and slightly embarrassed, but they didn’t seem to care. They started slapping it around and laughing.

“Would you like to masturbate?” my Mistress asked me.

“Mhm,” I nodded.

“You can masturbate on her command. At a snap of her fingers, you start, and at a snap of her fingers, you stop.”

I curled up around her boots.

She waited a bit, and then she snapped.

I was stroking, completely humiliated, but loving every aspect of it. Curled up on the floor, naked, beaten, masturbating like a horny puppy. I fixated on their shoes — which, of course, I wasn’t allowed to touch on my own. I wished they would once again place them on me, but they didn’t. They were just observing; Ms May slightly bemused, while Ms Devine totally accustomed. I observed them. So beautiful and so far above. I could really play my beat to that… Until her fingers snapped again.

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Not long after, their sadistic side awoke again. They were slapping me and pushing me around. Not even lying on the floor could save me, as they still found angles to land a slap on my face. My ears were ringing. I enjoyed their beauty and excitement, but my body was screaming for a pause.

As my Mistress once told me, I should be responsible enough to express it.

I wasn’t.

I’m not sure why though. They wanted me to break, so begging them to stop would not have been a disappointment for Them. So it must have been for my own pride. I’m a big boy, I can surely take some slaps, no? I was embarrassed enough; I guess I wanted to prove myself in at least something, perhaps that was how much I could endure.

But even through her buzz and frenzy, my Mistress’s care shone through. She lowered herself to me and asked if I was okay. She caressed my face tenderly. I looked at her and kissed her palms.

“I guess I could have bit of a pause,” I said with trembling voice.

They broke me, but screaming for mercy was not my way of expressing it. I needed some softness to fully unravel. Through the slaps, I endured by contracting. But now I opened up again, gazing up at my Mistress, grateful for her care.

I closed my eyes. I was at peace, and I could have stayed there on the floor for hours. However, hearing their conversation wrapping up made me feel kind of sad that the night was ending.

As if she sensed me once again, she asked:

“Is there anything you wish for, Alex?”

I nodded, but I was hesitant to say it. I didn’t want to sound greedy.

“What is it? You can say it.”

I was looking at her feet. She probably knew where I was going.

“Can I hump your feet, Mistress?”

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Mistress May left as I was still holding onto my Mistress’s knees. She was energized, ready for her party, while we were winding down, like a song coming to an end.

I could feel that She was tired. I hugged her from behind and tenderly kissed her bare shoulders. I caressed her hair as she leaned back into my arms.

She feels very safe with me, she once told me. That sentence really warmed my heart. I could feel it now, as she drifted into sleep.

Making her feel safe awakens something meaningful in me, someplace very deep. I could almost say it feels like the purpose of my existence. It comes from my masculine core; it makes me caring, protective, and gentle. Gently caressing her head, lovingly admiring something so beautifully fragile. Is there any other purpose a man could possibly have?

Being beaten and mistreated doesn’t really change much. If anything, it cracks the surface. It feels good, for some reason — maybe that surface had become too heavy after all those years of accumulation — a layer of ego settling on the roof.

It also feels good to surrender yourself to something so alluring. Hot and cruel is surely a cocktail of my choice. With age, you apparently develop a taste for a kick. I surely got my dose of that. But what I experienced was more than just a flavor.

When I broke, I received her care. Without even asking for it, she felt me, just as I feel her. Everyone should break sometimes. It feels so good, especially when you have someone there with you. Accepting care is not an easy gift to receive for someone as individualistic as me. But it opens me up to feel the world which before I only observed through a veil. And it feels good.

My experience that night was intense — emotionally more than I could have predicted. But it also felt safe, and it didn’t leave any harm, apart from a few bruises, for which my pride is to blame.

I feel safe with her too. I’m not really used to this, as I usually felt safest on my own. But offering my soul feels more real than just my body. And I am completely fine taking an occasional beating along the way.