This article recounts a raw and carnal experience that occurred in Mistress Divine Jasmine's dungeon. Through the eyes of a devout follower who reveals the extremes he submits to, as she pushes her limits further than ever. The few photos in the article were not taken during the session.
Anticipation, Anxiety and Arrival at Her Place
My heart was pounding in my chest as I stood outside Mistress Divine Jasmine's dungeon, located in the heart of the bustling city of Paris. The anticipation for this evening’s session was palpable; I could feel it wrapping around me like the tendrils of a snake. Mistress Divine Jasmine, an enigmatic and powerful figure in our BDSM community, has indulged in a variety of kinks that leave you speechless just thinking about it.
As I waited outside, my mind flashed back to previous sessions. The taste of her delectable humiliation lingered on my tongue as I remembered how she controlled my every thought and action. I knew that tonight the line between pleasure and pain would blur, leaving me in a state of euphoric agony. And above all, I hoped that my session would be very oriented around urine, as I had asked him.
After ringing his doorbell, the sound of his footsteps echoed down the hallway before the thick door opened. Mistress Divine Jasmine stood before me, dressed in a black latex corset that clung to her body like a second skin. Her hair cascaded down her back in loose curls and she stared at me with those hypnotic eyes that could make even the strongest of men tremble.
An electric charge coursed through my body as I felt his dominating presence. My knees weakened and it took everything I had in me to hold them in place. Her lips curled into a smirk, sensing my submissive nature, and with a flick of her wrist, she beckoned me into her home.
Inside, the dimly lit room was filled with an array of BDSM implements – from whips and paddles to handcuffs and collars. It was clear that tonight's session would not be for the faint-hearted. Mistress Divine Jasmine guided me to a small table in the corner, adorned with a pair of soiled panties. The sight of them made my pulse quicken as I realized the journey we were about to embark on.
With almost ritualistic grace, she ordered me to kneel before her while lifting her skirt. I looked at her, seeing the dark fabric stained with her morning piss. The intoxicating scent emanated from Mistress Jasmine's panties, captivating me with its raw intensity. From a respectful distance as I gazed at his soiled garment, my mind began to associate this scent not only with urination but also with desire and submission under his commanding presence – an olfactory trigger that would become deeply ingrained in the recesses of my mind.
As instructed by Mistress Divine Jasmine herself, I inhaled deeply through my nose as she carefully observed me from afar with satisfaction etched on her features; it was evident that this ritual had already begun to assert its psychological hold on both parties involved in the scene. The pungent aroma enveloped and consumed all other sensory input – an olfactory mastery that left me with primal, submissive desire as I exhaled with a guttural moan reflecting my surrender to her will.
This profound moment marked the beginning of our evening of exploration of submission; Mistress Jasmine would now assert herself not only in her physical form, but also through her mental and psychological domination, shaping in me an indelible experience as she firmly established herself among the deities I worshiped with unwavering devotion.
Worshipping Her Panties
As my eyes adjusted to the dim, red light of the dungeon, I noticed the sheer volume and variety of BDSM tools, instruments, and gadgets. The sight both exhilarated and terrified me – a cocktail of emotions that Mistress Divine Jasmine had clearly anticipated. She towered over me with an aura of pure dominance, her black latex corset clinging tightly to every curve in an alluring, menacing display.
She gestured towards a large ottoman at the center of the room, and I knew that this was where the real initiation would begin. My knees hit the cold floor with a hollow thud as I knelt before her. With a small, almost playful smile, she hoisted her skirt, revealing the lacy waistband of her panties. They hung heavy, soaked in her morning urine – a testament to her absolute command over her body and desires.
My eyes widened with both lust and trepidation as I contemplated what was expected of me. This would not be a simple sniff or lick, but rather an act of worship to the goddess that stood before me. Slowly, I extended my tongue towards the soiled panties. The first brush sent waves of musky urine-scented air into my nostrils as I began to explore this forbidden feast.
I continued to probe, licking and flicking with a growing sense of fervor. My eyes remained locked on the source – her womanhood, now exposed and glistening in the soft crimson light. The scent intensified, an almost intoxicating potion that clouded my judgement. Mistress Divine Jasmine commanded me to inhale deeply, drawing the stench deep within my lungs as I moaned softly, relishing her dominance.
The taste was powerful – a heady mix of tangy and pungent that awakened an animalistic hunger within me. Each flick of my tongue sent shivers up my spine, a visceral response to this taboo act. Mistress Divine Jasmine stood patiently, her gaze unwavering as she observed the devotion in my movements. The worship was not merely physical, but emotional too – a ritualistic homage to the woman who controlled every aspect of my being.
As I continued, she pulled away just enough to reveal her dripping folds. Her scent wafted over me like a pungent cloud, intoxicating and hypnotic. My body trembled with an unyielding need – not merely to please her, but because in this moment, I desired nothing more than the forbidden taste before me.
The experience was both degrading and exhilarating. Never had I felt so completely subservient or so utterly enraptured by my mistress's presence. The humiliation of worshipping her panties only served to heighten the thrill, as she watched with an almost sadistic pleasure. My senses were overwhelmed, consumed entirely by the intoxicating brew of desire and degradation.
The act served not only to satisfy my mistress but also to indoctrinate me further into submission. By the time I had finished, I knew that there was no going back – Mistress Divine Jasmine held an iron grip on my soul, one that would forever bind me to her will. The memory of her scent and taste lingered on my lips as I awaited what torturous pleasures she would bestow next.
Drinking Her Piss
As the soft fabric of Mistress Divine Jasmine's panties left my lips, I felt a new wave of fear and anticipation wash over me. The memory of the hot, salty liquid still floated on my tongue. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for her next order.
I knelt before my Divine Mistress Jasmine as she stood over me with an air of power and desire that left no doubt of her authority, the soft fabric of the panties remaining at the lips. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for further instructions; memories of a warm, salty liquid lingering on the tongue like an unfulfilled promise – a taste that begs me to return once more.
She leaned closer and spoke to me in a soft, firm tone, “Put your mouth directly under my source. » Shivers ran down my spine as I obediently obeyed; lips parting just above her wet folds where an intoxicating scent of musk and urine intertwined and filled my nostrils.
As thoughts raced through my mind – the fear of disobeying or disappointing, the desire to fully submit to my Mistress's pleasure and needs – I took a deep breath, and waited for more; eyes closed as I prepared myself for what was to come in this ordeal of obedience and humiliation.
Mistresses Divine Jasmine fulfilled this expectation with a generous offering, her hot liquid flooding my eager maw – a taste more powerful than before due to the abundance: a sweetness mixed with a strong and intoxicating flavor, sending shivers through the limbs as I struggled to swallow quickly; each sip brought me greater satisfaction.
Between sips, she would pause momentarily, watching carefully – if any of them dared to spill onto the floor, it would result in a stinging slap to the face or a stern look accompanied by saliva running from her lips straight into my maw opened ; humiliation only serving to deepen the state of submission.
Once again, she filled my mouth with a golden offering – my senses flooding my mind – the smells and the tastes – while my body worked diligently to capture every spurt or drop without failing or faltering, winning once more. plus the approving look from my Mistress: “Well done slave. » Submission proven by obedience. »
As I licked the last remains, Mistress Divine Jasmine pulled me up, her eyes full of satisfaction and domination. “That was a good start, slave,” she purred, her tone mixing approval and lust for control. My devotion to her desires then increased. My submission had proven its worth through my obedience, but my journey as a submissive was only just beginning.
Caged and Licking her feet
I could only stare at her, a mix of terror and anticipation clouding my vision as she approached me after making me lick her dripping cunt with such ferocious hunger. I was still on all fours when she stepped behind me and roughly grasped my collar, guiding me to the dog cage that awaited me at the corner of her dungeon.
My heart raced as the cold metal locked around my body. Trapped in this small enclosure, I felt an acute sense of vulnerability. The bars, meant to keep me contained, seemed to mockingly outline the boundaries of my world. It was here that Mistress Divine Jasmine intended for me to contemplate my place in her life—as a lowly slave at her mercy.
As she sauntered away with an intoxicating grace, I couldn't help but let my gaze follow her as she settled onto a chair. She reached for the large glass of iced tea she had prepared earlier, its condensation glistening in the dim light like tears of self-satisfaction. My mind wandered back to the humiliations we'd shared and the blissful pain they brought me.
The sound of ice clinking against the side of her glass jarred me from my reverie. Jasmine, my Mistress, had begun sipping on her drink, an act that seemed so ordinary, yet within the confines of her dungeon, it was a testament to her dominance. In that moment, I was starkly reminded of how utterly powerless and dependent upon her whims I was.
Suddenly, through the metal bars, she commanded me to lick her feet with eager obedience. The craving for her approval welled up inside me, leaving no room for hesitation. I eagerly leaned forward, my tongue seeking out her perfect skin as she lifted a leg towards me, her heel first.
My lips brushed against the soft arch of her foot, the texture a delightful contrast to the harsh metal that surrounded me. My tongue danced across the creases between her toes and teased around the ball of her foot while Mistress Divine Jasmine continued to sip from her glass with a serene nonchalance.
This act, so degrading on its face, was another reminder of how completely she owned me. The humility I felt was profound—it burrowed deep within my core and resonated through every fiber of my being. Each lick, each touch of her skin against my lips, fed a fire that burned brighter with every passing moment.
Her voice rang out from the safety of her distance, instructing me to be thorough in my task. I felt my resolve strengthening as I continued to worship at the feet of this goddess who had seen fit to take such an undeserving slave under her wing. The unrelenting devotion I held for Mistress Divine Jasmine only grew stronger, bound by each new degradation and every act of submission.
As she continued sipping on her iced tea, I found myself lost in the hypnotic rhythm of my own servitude. My tongue traced lines along her instep and wrapped itself around her toes, each touch a prayer to the altar of her dominion. The metallic taste of the cage clashed with the sweet aftertaste of her skin—a harsh reminder of where I stood in her world.
The moments stretched on, but in that confined space, time seemed to lose meaning. It was a temporary purgatory for this devoted slave, one from which my release could only come from fulfilling my Mistress's every desire. This, then, became the soundtrack to my existence—the clink of ice against glass, the swish of my tongue on her skin, and the unwavering strength of the bars that caged me.
Pissing on Me
After a time I couldn't figure out, between 40 minutes and one hour, as I lay helpless and vulnerable within the dog cage, the sound of Mistress Divine Jasmine sipping her iced tea reverberated through my senses. The anticipation of what was to come next filled me with equal parts dread and exhilarating longing. As she approached me once more, the clink of ice against glass echoed through the dungeon, a sweet serenade to the sadistic orchestrations of her desires.
She stood before me, a vision of dominance in all its splendor. Her eyes pierced into my very soul as I awaited her next command. In her hands, she cradled an empty jar, a relic from one of our earlier exploits. I could see the glint in her eyes, anticipating my imminent degradation.
She lifted her skirt with poise and grace that belied the wicked act she was about to commit. I could feel the heat emanate from between her legs as she revealed a pair of panties soaked with the nectar of her morning pee. The tantalizing aroma assaulted my senses, reminding me that I existed solely for her pleasure and domination.
With a smile that spoke volumes of sadistic delight, Mistress Divine Jasmine untied the waistband of her panties. The wet fabric released a steady stream of her essence, cascading down her thighs in a liquid waterfall of control. Her command rang through my mind like a bell tower echoing its summons: "Drink again, slave."
My tongue danced out to catch her nectar as it trickled towards the floor. I eagerly lapped up each droplet, my eyes locked on hers in devout submission. With every sip, she grew more pleased, slapping me with delightful vigor on the side of my face whenever a drop escaped my reach.
As the flow from her panties began to wane, Mistress Divine Jasmine ordered, "Rise, and prepare for your next humiliation." I obeyed without hesitation as she stepped forward, the jar held high above my head. I stared straight ahead as a steady stream of golden liquid arced towards my face.
At her command, I kept my eyes wide open, resisting the urge to shield them from the stinging sensation that threatened to overwhelm. The warmth and sharpness danced across my eyelids and cheeks, reminding me that I was her vessel, her plaything, and utterly at her mercy.
I remained still, submitting myself to the torrent as it coursed down my body like a river of shame, soaking my hair and dripping from the tips. A cacophony of emotions swirled within me, each drop intensifying my submission. The vulnerability of being entirely at her mercy left me feeling both broken and whole simultaneously.
Once the stream ceased, Mistress Divine Jasmine admired her handiwork, a wicked grin on her face as she observed the complete domination she had achieved over her slave. With a flick of her wrist, the jar tipped, sending one last droplet to cascade from its rim.
"Remember," she commanded in a voice that chilled my spine, "these are your gifts from above." As the final drop rolled down my chin, I dutifully licked it away, signaling my acknowledgment of her command and the depths of my devotion to her desires.
Bread and Piss
My heart raced and my head throbbed, a testament to the intense onslaught of humiliation that Mistress Divine Jasmine had subjected me to. The scent of her musky urine still clung tightly to my skin, reminding me of the depraved servitude I had endured thus far. But I would not be allowed to bask in the afterglow of my submission for long; Mistress had yet more debasements in store for her little pet.
The cold steel of the dog cage door clicked open, releasing me from its confines. My knees wobbled as I stumbled forward, still blinded by the stinging sensation left behind by the cascade of urine that had been poured over my face. Mistress's cruel laughter echoed through her lair as she beckoned me with an authoritative flick of her wrist.
"On your knees," she commanded, her voice a sweet mixture of dominance and delight. I complied, lowering myself to the floor as ordered. Her feet now presented themselves before me, clad in a pair of strappy black sandals that left much of her arch exposed.
The sight of Mistress's feet triggered an overwhelming sense of devotion within my core; it was a connection so profound and primal that I could not fully comprehend its depth. My tongue flicked out, gently tracing the outline of the heel before delving further into the intricate web of her toes. The leather straps from the sandals scratched against my cheeks as I serviced my Mistress to the best of my ability.
My humiliation grew with each lick; each time I missed a drop of sweat, Mistress's hand found its way back to my face in punishment, the stinging slap jolting me back into the present moment. The icy sweetness of her iced tea was a stark contrast against the bitter taste that lingered on her soles, but it only served to heighten my awareness—an exquisite form of torture that I craved.
Mistress Divine Jasmine stood and sauntered over to a small table where several slices of bread lay untouched. A wicked smile played at the corners of her lips as she picked one up, dabbing it into the puddle that had formed around my head. With a flourish, she held the sopping wet bread towards me.
"Eat it," she commanded, her eyes boring into mine. I accepted the offering without question, feeling the cool, moist bread against my lips as I swallowed each bite. The taste was repulsive—a symphony of urine and stale bread that only served to enhance the degradation I was experiencing.
She continued this ritual several more times, each slice laden with the remnants of her urination. My stomach churned and my eyes watered, yet still I obeyed without hesitation. The humiliation I felt was matched only by the overwhelming desire to serve her—an unyielding bond that tied me to her will.
When all the bread had been used, Mistress Divine Jasmine surveyed the scene before her with a look of satisfaction. "Good boy," she purred, her words dripping with approval. The praise was intoxicating; it fueled my devotion and spurred me on to greater heights of servitude.
As the echoes of her footfalls faded in the distance, I remained in place—a sobbing mess surrounded by urine-soaked breadcrumbs, a testament to my unwavering submission. In this moment, I was but a mere slave to Mistress Divine Jasmine's every desire, and it was in those depths that I found solace. For in this dungeon of debasement, I had discovered the truest form of myself—a submissive soul bound to her will.
Conclusion
In the end, you leave her dungeon physically exhausted and emotionally exhilarated. The sense of surrender that comes with a powerful Domme's control leaves you craving for more. Mistress Divine Jasmine has once again redefined what it means to be a submissive. This text is the best proof I can give.
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