Category: slave cow

How’s that for a before and after?  Cunt torture, BrutalMaster…

How’s that for a before and after?  Cunt torture, BrutalMaster style.  And guess who had three orgasms from this? Me.  I’m ashamed… and I can’t wait to do it again.

Wow, look at the marks on those suckers!  Master tells me he…

Wow, look at the marks on those suckers!  Master tells me he likes me best when my tits are just hanging like this, ready to be tortured.  He sure seemed to enjoy them this day.  I look like a hanging suffering piece of meat, which is exactly what I am.

You know you’re a pig if your cunt drips this much.You’re a…

You know you’re a pig if your cunt drips this much.

You’re a bigger pig if it drips because you’re anticipating being in pain. 

You’re one of the BIGGEST pigs if it drips like that because your Master is about to brand you and you’re going to smell your meat burning in a matter of seconds.

I am a piece of shit, obviously. 🙂

New update this week at!

Slave Cow is an owned bitch and now she bears the Taken Brand…

Slave Cow is an owned bitch and now she bears the Taken Brand to prove it. 

For this intense session, the slut was lashed to the rack, her cunt was stapled shut so it was nice and stable, but also because she was, literally, dripping at the thought of being permanently marked as property. The the hot iron was applied and she is not forever a taken piece of meat. 

Her cunthole dripped so much she was allowed to masturbate once the staples came out. The whore had an orgasm in seconds forever confirming what a low piece of shit she really is. 

Slave Cow Branded, forever. 

New update today at!

BrutalMaster calls my udders “mudflaps” because, in his mind,…

BrutalMaster calls my udders “mudflaps” because, in his mind, they’re so long and hanging that they could protect tires on trucks. He’s even threatened to make me get tattoos on both of my tits of the silhouette of a naked woman, making the comparison even more obvious. In his latest video, Sir decided that he was going to try his best to turn my udders from mudflaps into sausages, and I think he did a pretty good job of it. Certainly by the end, they looked like they had been through some sort of grinder.

I don’t think it’s obvious from the videos how painful it is when Sir uses zip ties to bind up our tits. He is not gentle about it and he makes them very tight. In this video, he uses three sets of zip ties for each udder, which made them hard as rocks. He asks me if I know what the problem is going to be and I say that everything is going to hurt twice as much since they were so bound up, but he says the real issue is going to be taking them off. As usual, Sir was right, but trust me, being caned on the tits hurts a lot worse when they’re bound up that tight.

Plus, those effing bells. They go on with vicious, awful alligator clamps and, in my opinion, they’re the worst clamps BrutalMaster has in his arsenal. They’re painful from the moment they go on to the moment he whips them off, tearing my poor nipple in the process. The bells might have helped ring in the new year, but the real soundtrack to the beginning of 2015 was my screams, because those suckers are painful.

So Sir caned my tits and beat them in typical BrutalMaster fashion while he made me debase myself, telling him what a piece of shit I am, mooing for him and confessing to all of the slutty things he had made me do in the previous few months. At one point, we are talking about how he made me suck a stranger’s cock in an adult bookstore while two other strangers watched. Sir asked me what they said to me and I wrinkled my nose and said, “They actually complimented me a lot.” Sir replied, “They don’t know you very well, then.” That made me laugh, because the way to my heart isn’t through telling me how beautiful I am, it’s through beating me and telling me how much I deserve it. Luckily, Sir knows that.

And oh god he was so right about what a nightmare it would be to get the zip ties off my udders after he got tired of beating them. He used scissors and ended up cutting off chunks of my skin, which was very painful. By the end of the video, Sir tells me my tits look like they’ve been through a delicatessen, and I can’t argue with that comparison.

When he finally got the zip ties off, he told me I was going to need some loving aftercare. Some doms I have been with in the past have ended “play” and “scenes” (two terms I detest) by wrapping me in a blanket and lovingly tending my wounds. Talk about a mood killer. In HELL! aftercare is a lot different- Sir unties me and I clean my blood up off the floor and get ready to be tortured again. It’s not for everyone, but HELL! is the perfect place for me, and I’d scrub up my blood off Sir’s floor any day of the week.

BrutalMaster burned my udders with a cigar.  They are scarred…

BrutalMaster burned my udders with a cigar.  They are scarred for life and will never be the same. I loved it 🙂

I get wet when I’m turned on and excited.  Not a little wet,…

I get wet when I’m turned on and excited.  Not a little wet, either- I’m talking sopping, dripping, disgustingly wet, the kind of wet that would completely soak my panties if I were allowed to wear panties.  The sad part is, I don’t get excited at all thinking of George Clooney and I making out or Taylor Kinney making love to me on the beach- the only way I get excited and wet is when I think about being humiliated, beaten, and tortured.  

For instance, just now, I was sitting and working, just a normal day.  Then, I started imagining myself naked, kneeling in front of my Master.  He grabs me by the hair and stares at me before holding out his hand for me to kiss with adoration before he slaps me, hard, across the face.  Then, he pushes me to the ground and orders me to lick his boots.  I start to cry (as I tend to do when I’m humiliated and turned on, sight) and lick his filthy boots while he tells me what a disgusting, worthless whore I am and how twisted I am.  He kicks my tits a little as I clean his boots with my tongue and with my tears…. and my little mid-day revelry is interrupted because I realize I’m soaking wet and the crotch of my jeans is damp.  

This isn’t a rare occasion.  I find myself dripping wet every day thinking of my Master abusing me, spitting in my face, forcing me to drink gallons of his piss, grinding his asshole against my tongue… SHIT!  I’m wet again!

This is very humiliating for me.  I can’t even tell you how demented in makes me feel to know that this is the stuff that does it for me.  I’ve seen videos of Master torturing me and cringed when I saw my cunt juices dripping down my leg.  I mean, he’s not kissing me tenderly or rubbing my clit, he’s burning me with a cigar, but I’m as excited as a woman can get as he draws screams out of me like a virtuoso strumming a violin.  Man, it sure did hurt being burned and knowing that the marks would be there forever and ever and there was nothing I could do about it because I’m property, a disgusting sub-human slave… WET AGAIN, PEOPLE!!!

Further proof that I’m demented, disgusting, twisted and sick, and that I’m right at home in HELL! as my Master’s filthy property.

Yesterday afternoon, Master allowed me to cum.  I had to do it…

Yesterday afternoon, Master allowed me to cum.  I had to do it while licking the toilet and shoving a glass dildo into my filthy cunt, but hey, an orgasm is an orgasm.  I am so lucky 🙂

After I came, I laid down my bed for a quick cat nap… and then woke up an hour later.  I felt around my bed for my phone and couldn’t find it.  That’s when I started to panic.  I had left my phone downstairs and there was no way I could have heard it ring.  My stomach clenched with dread.  What if my Master had tried to get in contact with me?  What if he needed something or had wanted me to tell him what a piece of shit I am?  If I didn’t answer, I knew he’d wonder why.  I hate disappointing him.

I quickly ran down the stairs and found my phone.  Master had texted twenty minutes earlier.  Luckily it was nothing urgent.  I replied and confessed what I had done and told him about the sense of panic I felt when I realized I was out of contact with him for over an hour.

“I own you.  That’s what slavery is.  Next time someone says that long distance M/s relationships don’t work, tell them about this.”

It’s true.  He owns me.  I am available to him 24 hours a day.  When the phone rings and it’s my Master, I am required to be available to answer it.  If he needs something, I provide it for him.  I am his property, and apparently I have an electronic leash that ties me to him at all times.  His control over me doesn’t end when I am far away from him.  I am kind of in awe of that 🙂

Guess how many days of pleading it took for my Master to grant…

Guess how many days of pleading it took for my Master to grant me the privilege of getting a haircut? Three. And those were days of constant begging and long explanations about split ends, not to mention promises of constant devotion and lifelong service. Even after all of that, he only allowed me to cut off a quarter of a inch. My stylist barely had to sweep the floor when I got out of her chair. It was my first haircut in over a year.

I have fine textured, very wavy hair. To me, it looks best in a bob- shoulder length at most- and flat ironed straight. Master has very different ideas about what makes me beautiful. He likes it long. REALLY long. For the last three or four years, it’s been growing and growing and growing. Right now, when it’s wet and I comb it out, it’s halfway down my back. It requires a lot of styling and upkeep. It’s just not my thing. When he ties me up and grumbles about my hair getting caught in the ropes, I always make sure to remind him that the mop of hair is HIS idea.

Of course, as someone who loves to be controlled, part of me really loves having my hairstyle dictated by my owner, but the part of me that fights giving over authority curses it. What could possibly be worse than making me have a hairdo I don’t like and sentencing me to a lifetime of deep conditioning treatments, curling irons and complaints from my mother about how women over thirty should have short and sensible hair?

Guess what? There’s something much, much worse.

This week in HELL! I complained about my stupid hair one too many times. Master looked over at me and said, “Put your hair in two pigtails, one on each side of your head.”

I know some people are really into that kind of look. I don’t judge them, but I, most decidedly, am NOT. I like looking like a 37 year old, not a high school cheerleader. But I’m a pretty good slave, so I did as I was told. Siiiiigh.

Of course, Master loved it. “You look great! It frames your face and brings out your cheekbones!” I bit my tongue to refrain from mentioning that a good haircut would do the same thing. He loved it even more when he saw how disgusted I was every time I caught a glimpse of myself.

Then, as is my custom, I complained one too many times. I also might have accidentally called him a doofus in a comment on FetLife I made when j was slightly tipsy. Whoops. He made a decree. “Guess what, slave? That’s how you’re going to wear your hair every single day from now on.”

Oh my gosh, I was horrified. I work from home, but still, I knew I’d feel humiliated every time I went out in public with those curly mops bouncing around on either side of my head. I pleaded with him to reconsider. I begged and pouted and almost cried but he didn’t budge. I prepared to accept that I was going to look like a gigantic toddler for the rest of my life. It was a horrible thought.

This afternoon, we went to lunch with my hair in the stupid pigtails. We walked into the restaurant and I could feel my face getting red. It felt like every eye in the place was on me. When we sat down in the booth, he smiled at me, impressed with his power.

“Are you ever going to call me a doofus again?” he asked sternly.

“No, Sir. I promise I won’t. I learned my lesson.”

“Who am I?”

“You’re my Master, Sir. You own me.”

“From now on, remember that. You may take those things out of your hair.”

I was so happy and relieved. I pulled my hair back into a bun and thanked him profusely.

“Just so you know, you’ll be wearing your hair like that at home whenever I tell you to do so,” said the mean sadist at the table.

“Yes, Master,” sighed the very embarrassed and humbled but happy masochist, feeling controlled and loved and, oh man, extremely wet between my legs.


I don’t think I’ll complain about my long hair ever again. Lesson learned.

I’m in HELL! tonight and BrutalMaster has put a shock…

I’m in HELL! tonight and BrutalMaster has put a shock collar on each of my udders. He pushes the activation clicker thing wayyyy too much. An electrifying night around here!