My job is to wrap grown men in newspapers so they can wet themselves

My job is to wrap grown men in newspapers so they can wet themselves

SexAugust 01, 2017 By Mistress J

The first lesson to learn about being a dominatrix is not to be surprised by anything. Requests range from foot massages, to serious caning, to bondage. One client once offered me double my hourly fee to defecate in his mouth. I passed on that one, as a rule I didn’t do brown anything.

My decade in the dungeon generated literally thousands of stories like that one, of which I kept copious notes from with the idea of possibly writing another book at some point.

This particular account is one that most people likely haven’t thought of as a new and innovative way to use newspapers.

William. Every time I see him he has a slightly different request. In fact, I might have gone into shock if he ever wanted the same sort of session twice in a row. The time I'm referencing, he requested "newspaper bondage."

Fortunately, when he asked, he couldn’t see me struggling to keep my composure while outlining the scenario. I managed to cover my snorting chuckle with a cough reasonably well, but it likely sounded more like a belch on his end of the phone.

I know from experience that newspapers can be used to wrap fish and chips, or as a temporary umbrella in a downpour. Once I read about a designer dress made out of The New York Times. But newspaper bondage? That was a new one, even for an experienced dominatrix who thinks she has heard it all.

William explained that he wanted to live out a childhood experience, coupled with a fantasy. He wanted me to make him my slave, reduce him to nameless status and force him to drink a couple of glasses of water after wrapping him in newspapers to be left alone for an hour. Every once in a while, I was to return to check his "newspaper nappy" to make sure it was dry. When it was wet — because he couldn’t control his bladder any longer — I was to drag him to the toilet on a leash, hold his head in the bowl and flush it twice.

Not once or three times, but twice.

When William — who is an average sized man in his 50s with graying hair and a pleasant face — finally arrived, he announced: “Mistress, I’ve brought some newspapers and I’ve already constructed the newspaper nappy, some boots and the blindfold. And here are some long shoe laces so you can tie the newspaper around me and some tape to keep it in place.”

“So you want to spend about an hour just wrapped up in newspaper?” I asked, wanting to make sure I’d got it right. Glancing at his creations, I noticed he used The Daily Telegraph to construct his nappy, a weekly publication from a small city for the ‘ropes,’ and a flyer from a grocery store for his blindfold.

“Yes,” he answered in a voice that had a slight quiver. “When I was young, one of the neighbor women used to wrap me in newspaper and then make all sorts of suggestions about what she was going to do to me. This fantasy is a one-off, just something I want to work through and then I will revert back to being an ordinary slave.”

“Fine,” I replied as the phone rang in the background. It was another client who wanted to come around for a bondage session. Obviously it was the flavour of the day. I must say, I was relieved that he wanted ropes instead of newspapers. Two slaves and one Mistress suited all of us: the bondage client was comfortable with William being in another room; William, in turn, was pleased to be allowed to stay longer without being charged for the additional time. I was happy to be doubling up on appointments.

I moved William to another room so he would be out of the way. Putting him into newspaper bondage proved to be more of a task than anticipated. The pages kept slipping out of my grasp before I could properly tie them. Though once he was wrapped in newspapers, he looked like a worm stuffed into a badly constructed cocoon.

I threatened him not to wet his nappy, as otherwise he would be punished. Then the doorbell rang and I took the other client into the dungeon.

I returned a couple of times just to check on William and taunt him that I’d hidden his clothes and might leave him for a few hours while I went shopping. I told him I wasn’t worried about leaving him alone, as being wrapped in newspaper didn’t present too much of a health risk (although the ink might have to be scrubbed off his skin). When I finished the regular rope bondage session, it was time to deal with William.

Sure enough, his newspaper nappy was wet. I ripped it off and rubbed the soggy paper roughly on his face, taunting and humiliating him for not being able to control himself. He winced slightly as the ink spread, making him look like a kid who’d had his face pushed into a mud puddle. Then I secured a chain around his neck and dragged him to the toilet, choking slightly. He was down on his hands and knees, struggling to keep up with me. In the bathroom, I held his head in the toilet bowl just above the water line and flushed ... twice.

He gasped as the water splashed up onto his face and into his mouth. Then he looked up at me sheepishly, with tracks of newspaper ink running down his face and dripping onto his hairy chest.

At that moment, although he was in his 50s, he looked just like a five-year-old who’d just gotten into trouble.

William!