Valentine's/Valencrime's Day is fast approaching. As a treat, I've decided to lower the rates on my phone domination lines. I AM NOT, however, lowering my rates for real time sessions. There is already a discount in place for those who enjoy longer sessions.

Today I'll be available to chat about fetishes and play on the phone from 3pm to 6pm CST.

MNTP sent this lovely gem to my email. The following has been cut and paste from an email. Nothing has been changed or altered. I've only removed my play thing's real name for discretion purposes.

Enjoy...

(For background, the reader should know that the following moments ensued after Mistress Natalya devised a particularly trying predicament to utilize a new toy, a 1" wide split steel stretcher, that Natalya helped me to acquire. I was bound on my hands and knees atop a bondage bench, chest pressed onto bench and very vulnerable) . . .

Nearly in tears from the sensory overload, my head was spinning even while my body was firmly secured upon the kneeling bench. While I was tightly bound at my knees and elbows, keeping me in a vulnerable position, Natalya allowed me enough movement to squirm forward as she relentlessly probed and stimulated me. Deviously ingenious, she used the stretcher that had become a new favorite toy as a tool in this devilish predicament. My arousal from her handling of me would build to what I felt had to be the point of bursting as she would continue to probe and manipulate, and my natural response was to escape . . . get away from the stimulation that would casue me to transgress the forbidden boundry of losing control. Each attempt to escape, to squirm away, was ultimately restricted by the stretcher. Before I could even comprehend my own movements, I would find myself drawn taut beyond what I thought I could bear. I was sweating profusely as I clutched new depressions into the hard wood of the bench. My chest slid slickly across the leather of the bench, my whole body thrust forward, away from Natalya and her probing hands -- my whole body, except for my balls, that is. Only as I was stretched (ironically, under my own power) to the point of breaking would I realize that Natalya's relentless probing had, if fact, relented, and that I was receeeding (if only barelly) away from the brink of orgasm. As I would almost catch my breath and sigh as relief washed over me, I would hear her laugh and feel her hands on my hips, slowly but firmly pulling me back, the relief from the stretching receding only to be replaced with a new feeling of trepidation as she started in anew. I felt an entirely new wave of stimulation and pleasure building, one that I would have to resist to heed my instructions from Natalya. Her laughter was in my ears as I began to squirm away, stretching myself again, pulling myself to the point where the steel cuff bolted around me and my own tolerance for pain would permit no further escape, desparately hoping that Natalya would relent in her delivery of pleasure and spare me the shame of losing control. How did I get here, to a place where I was so single-mindedly driven to escape pleasure, that I would physically stretch myself to the limit of my endurance to avoid it? How did I fall into a mindset where the discomfort was a relief and I sought refuge from pleasure at the boundaries of my pain tolerance? While it was a mystery, slowly unlocking itself to me, someone in the room knew exactly the path to clear to lead me there, and I heard her laugh again as she pulled me back for a yet another revolution of this wicked cycle.