Training Tresner

TRAINING TRESNER

I am sending this e-mail to you, Miss Stephanie, because I just discovered my slave-boy, Tresner, has been sending you these impudent stories in the hopes of getting your phone call. I am horrified, and terribly apologetic. He was not allowed to join any Yahoo Groups without my permission—indeed, he isn’t allowed to use the computer much atall, and is only allowed to use the phone three times a month when he is at home.

 

Tresner is actually heterosexual, or he thinks he is, and it has been quite unusual for the boy to have lived for four years with a male Master. He was reluctant to learn cocksucking,but I started him out on shit-covered cucumbers, and by the time I allowed his lips around my stiff one, he became quite proficient at it. He begged me not to use his ass as well, but I’ve done that quite a bit, and lent his sorry little ass out at my all male Master parties…it’s quite fun! But I think he still has these pathetic hopes of getting a female Mistress, and that’s why he began bothering you with his sad stories. I knew he’d have to get a severe punishment for this…

 

I recall once I caught the little bastard flirting with some secretary at his Senate office. Tresner’s quite the sort. He was a schoolteacher til recently, but is now working on the Hill, and has been quite the rich boy.

 

 I’d dropped in to bring Tresner a Subway sandwich, and there he was, stroking her leg, leaving himself quite open to being fired for sexual harassment. “Hey there, Randy!” he said to me, “Delia, this is Randy, my roommate…just kidding around!” I remember that I pointed to his office door silently, and he scrambled in there, shaking in his Armani suit.

 

I knew I couldn’t punish Tresner at his office, as he might’ve gotten fired, and he has quite a salary, it goes directly in my bank account, and I like it a lot. I give him a small allowance, but I want to keep the boy working! When I’d gotten Tresner into his pretentious little office, I remember that I ordered him to pull his pants and panties down. “You like pretending that you’re not a pitiful little faggot, don’t you!” I had roared at him.

 

 “How’d you like it if your little girl-pal knew that you wore pink toenail polish, panties, and had a Prince Albert piercing? Maybe I should tell her that you’ve not been able to cum in a month.” As  I’d thrown Tresner across his desk, scattering paperweights, legal pads and the like, I continued. “What a riot it would be if you got her into a hotel and then she discovered that she couldn’t blow you because your dickie bird is all locked up in a piercing!” It was quite comical, Tresner began crying even before I’d borrowed his belt for his office thrashing. After I’d given him fifty hard strokes, he’d bitten his tongue to keep from screaming to alert his office mates…

 

And then of course my Tresner had sucked my dick right there, kneeling on his Oriental rug…his secretary outside wondering what was going on. At one point, the Senator he works for was in the hallway asking for him, (I think they were scheduled to go to lunch with Trent Lott and Pat Buchanan) and Tresner had shuddered with my dick in his mouth…and his ass was bright red, oh yes! As far as I know Tresner has never flirted at work since then!

 

 

 

But for bothering you this time I decided his punishment would have to be much worse…

 

“Please, Master…” Tres begged me.”I hope you understand that I was not trying to disrespect you, Sir, I was just making a new friend on the Internet.” What a pompous little ass he is…and he uses that phrase “disrespect” which only the ghetto sorts generally use. He thinks he is brilliant because he graduated from Choate and Amherst, my Tresner does, and that he can outwit me. True, I have no formal education after elementary school, as I was serving long sentences in reform schools and then later, adult prisons…but I’m a lot smarter than that little idiot is!  He’s the one who answered MY ad and begged me to move in with him…ugh.

 

So I decided to give him a merry little session, and I will humiliate him by telling you all about it. Tresner’s house, where we both live is well equipped with a basement dungeon and lots of the latest torture devices. I can leave Tresner locked in a Humbler or  beautiful cherrywood stocks for hours while I go out and play pool with the boys…there’s everything  his money could buy, including a spanking machine! Much of it was stuff Tres bought before we met, and we’ve added a few things, too. But I thought we’d do a low-budget punishment, why not, right?

 

After I discovered Tresner’s impudent e-mails to you, he immediately started with the repulsive excuses. “Really Sir, I didn’t mean..” he looked quite evasive as you can imagine. I slapped him hard on the face. “What the devil  are you clogging up this woman’s e-mail for?” I roared at him and shook Tresner quite a bit. I smashed him in the nose with another back-hand. “She doesn’t want to read your stupid, worthless stories, you little idiot!” I thundered.

 

“But Sir, I just wanted…I am straight you know…and would like to meet a female Dom.” I laughed harshly. “What a lie. You had a little bimbo who was willing to spank you when we met, you dumped her…a model as I remember, and begged me to take you on!” What  a closet case the boy is. “Strip to your pink panties now, you lying little homo!”

 

 

Although Tresner is allowed to wear clothes in the house except when he is on a clothing restriction, he is forced to wear panties wherever he goes. “Please, Sir…” Tres begged, but as my brow darkened, he pulled off his stupid muscle t-shirt and stepped out of his jeans. As you probably saw from his profile picture, the boy is quite the muscle queen, and is vain about his good looks.

 

Once I actually caught Tresner using my electric razor to shave off his body hair so he could pose in the mirror, and to reduce his ego, I took him down to the Trailways bus station here in Washington, and made him suck off homeless drunks in the public restroom for several hours…but  as you can imagine, it didn’t really reduce his ego much at all. Finally, though this time, I had our boy in his panties, and forced him to step into a pair of women’s high heels, size 7 I believe, much smaller than Tresner’s feet, which usually go into size 13 Doc Martens.

 

So, to start my punishment for his impudence to you, Miss Stephanie,  I put clothespins on Tresner’s nipples, and forced him to apply nail polish to his fingers, and made him scrub the house, as I followed him grimly with my Spencer paddle, a long wooden thing peppered with holes to make the swing faster and easier. Every time Tresner missed a spot on a baseboard or wall, I ordered him to pull down his panties and grab his ankles and I gave him thirty swats!

 

I’ve given him quite an afternoon…and now he’s kneeling in the corner and masturbating without being allowed to cum! Rubbing the base of his shaft, trying not to touch the sensitive head, because he’s been denied so long…and whispering “I’m sorry Miss Stephanie” again and again and again…he’ll not offend you again, dear!