Iranian Slave Trained in Shanghai: Cock Slaps and Obedience Under a Dominatrix’s Control

 He is the first Iranian submissive I’ve ever encountered in Shanghai, and our connection sparked with an undeniable, electric intensity from the very beginning.

He approached me with a hunger for something profound — something raw and consuming. He craved to be broken open, to explore the depths of submission he’d only dared to fantasize about. Our session began deceptively gently. I ordered him to kneel before me and offer his hands in service — his first task: to massage my shoulders and back.

For five brief minutes, he obeyed, his touch hesitant but eager. And then, rather boldly, he declared, “The massage is over.”

A declaration I never gave permission for.

His refusal to continue was met with a sharp shift in atmosphere. My voice, calm but laced with warning, commanded him to resume. When he defied me again, consequences became inevitable.

I stood, eyes locked on his with calculated silence, then delivered a swift kick to force him to bend over in submission. With practiced precision, I reached for my leather paddle and belt — my trusted instruments of discipline. The spanking began, rhythmic and deliberate. Each crack of leather against his flesh made his body jolt and twist in resistance.

But resistance only fuels me.

I pressed his head down firmly, or forced his back into vulnerable, exposed positions, denying him any chance of escape. His gasps turned to moans, his rebellion fading into surrender.

Cock slapping became necessary each time he dared act defiant. The sting reminded him who was in control. And when he tried to dodge my strikes — when he thought he could shift away from punishment — his nipples became my next target. Twisted, pinched, tormented until he understood: there is no hiding in my presence. No corner of your body is safe from the consequences of disobedience.

By the end, he was trembling — not from fear, but from the overwhelming mix of pain, pleasure, and submission he had never known he needed.

Pegging the One-Legged European: A Wild BDSM Encounter in Shanghai

 Some months ago, a man from Europe reached out to me, eager for a pegging session in Shanghai. His message was direct, his desires clear, and I agreed to meet him at his hotel.

The moment I saw him, I noticed something peculiar about the way he walked. At first, I assumed he was crippled, but I kept my thoughts to myself. It wasn’t until he undressed that I realized the truth — he had an artificial leg. He told me it was the result of a car accident. There was no self-pity in his voice, only a quiet acceptance of what life had taken from him.

He was polite, but beneath his calm demeanor, I sensed desperation. He needed this.

When he bent over before me, he begged — pleaded for me to take him from behind. His vulnerability, his raw hunger for submission, ignited something deep within me. I fastened my harness, savoring the anticipation in his trembling breaths. He braced himself, and I gave him exactly what he came for.

With every thrust, I felt his body surrender completely. He groaned, moaned, gasped — letting go of everything except the moment. His missing limb didn’t limit him; if anything, it heightened his need. His desire to be dominated, to be taken, was uninhibited and absolute.

By the time we finished, he lay exhausted but satisfied, his chest rising and falling in quiet relief. He looked at me with gratitude, a silent thank you for giving him what he craved. And in that moment, I realized something profound — his body may have been incomplete, but his submission was whole.