Mistress Caitlin's Memoirs

. . . But You Can Call Me Lolita

“You’re spoiled! Spoiled rotten!!” That’s pretty much what I’ve been told since I was a toddler, usually by my mother, but by other people as well. At first I was too young to even know what that meant. I used to think everybody just got whatever it was that they wanted—seemed natural enough to me. But as I grew up, I realized that only a certain lucky few of us are gifted with that destiny.

The other thing I was continually hearing was how beautiful I am. Again, I just assumed that all little girls were told that as a matter of course. However, another lesson I learned as I grew up was that all girls are definitely not the same, and therefore don’t get treated as such. The boys at school always wanted to walk me to my classes and would give me cute little gifts all the time. I noticed that not many other girls got the kind of attention I was showered with. (I should also mention that once I get to know a guy, I’m usually pretty good at sensing what he really needs, better than he does himself, so I think that’s another reason I attract more than my fair share of admirers.)

As you’ve probably guessed by now, I’ve always been a daddy’s girl. He actually calls me “Princess”! Don’t get me wrong . . . He’s still pretty strict when it has to do with my comings and goings, and my safety and stuff—but yes, I do have him wrapped around my little finger. He’s always given me everything I ever wanted, much to my mother’s disapproval.

Men have forever been a bit flustered and nervous around me, so I'm totally used to having that effect on guys, but it wasn't until my senior year of high school, when I made a conquest of one of my father's friends, that I realized how weak you guys really are. Don't be offended! I just mean that every now and then, you need someone like me to show you the way (my way, which I always get—remember?). "Michael" was one of my dad's golfing buddies, an older man in his forties. I had always noticed that he looked at me a lot whenever my dad wasn't around, but that's just par for the course. I found him attractive in a George Clooney kind of way, but I have to admit I was a little intimidated by his maturity, since I'd only ever dated boys my own age. 

One night, Michael showed up at our house "to see my dad" when he 100% positively had to know my parents were away. When I answered the door, he acted shocked (bad actor!) to find out my parents weren't home. I guess this sad news went straight to his bladder, because then he asked if he could come in to use the bathroom. When he was done in there, he came and found me in the living room and sat down on the couch, right next to me (literally two inches away). Which was a bit presumptuous. (Although he smelled AMAZING.)

Hmm . . .

*Defining moment.* Something in me shifted. *Crossroads.* I instantly realized that this could go one of two ways—and it was up to me to make sure things went my way, at my pace, and to my satisfaction. I didn't want to be the passenger; I was going to be the driver. *Turning point!*

He began telling me how gorgeous I was, and wow, what a great body I had, and how surprising it was to find me home alone without any of my many boyfriends in attendance! I smiled sweetly and said, “Well, actually, I do have a date” (little white lie) “so I’m going to have to cut this short.” He looked so disappointed; I almost felt sorry for him. But as I’d learned with my high-school beaus, blue balls never killed anyone. As he left, I gave him my cell number just so he’d know he was still in the game (you men can be so insecure). “This has to be our secret,” I whispered right into his ear, letting my silky blond hair brush against his neck.

Michael started calling me constantly . . . taking me out to expensive restaurants, buying me gifts—and I don’t mean cute little gifts, either. I must confess that it was fun sneaking around (turns out I have a gift for subterfuge—go figure). I was turned on by how he moved through the world with such confidence and authority but turned to jelly around me. Truth be told, I could hardly wait to fuck him! But wait I did. His insecurity surfaced in the form of questions about how long my high-school boyfriends could last, and how hard their erections were, and how far they could shoot, etc. It was really cute. I just smiled sweetly (I do that a lot). 

Quite frankly, all the teasing and denial I was dishing out had me wet 24/7, plus it was starting to interfere with my grades (Daddy takes my GPA very seriously and doles out my allowance accordingly), so I finally fucked Michael. He came almost immediately, just exactly like a teenage boy! When I pointed this out—sweetly, of course—he seemed a bit embarrassed, but the constructive criticism really worked, because after that, his performance improved dramatically. We fucked like bunnies, at his house, in his pool, on his boat, outside on top of his car (that was my idea). 

The more dominant I was, the more it excited him. He went crazy when I wore my school uniform and made him paint my toes. (Can you say Lolita?) I would tease his hard cock with my feet, rubbing it through his pants but not letting him take it out. His balls would be aching so badly that he’d just beg me to please!! let him come . . . but he loved it when I wouldn’t. And if one of his expensive gifts didn’t thrill me for some reason (like: “How do I explain the sudden appearance of a gigantic Louis Vuitton suitcase in my closet to my parents? OMG!”), I’d whip his ass and the tip of his hard cock with a riding crop—one of the many toys we bought together—stroking the long shaft of the crop back and forth between his legs, teasing his balls until he promised to be a good boy from now on in.

Once I had a taste of being in control, there was no going back. I guess Michael can be considered my starter sub, and my experience with him only whetted my appetite for kink and adventure. Luckily, the world seems to be full of submissive men.


La Douleur et le Sang   (written by Caitlin's Gallic devotee)

Preface to "La Douleur et le Sang: Please, Accept Me as Your Bitch, Goddess Caitlin!"

This homage was composed by a worshiper of Mistress Caitlin. It was constructed using notes written immediately after a very serious training session directed by the Mistress. The session consisted of two parts: a one-hour session, followed by an additional 30-minute session, separated from the first part by about 40 minutes. During this very intense training, some prolonged ball-beating phases were conducted. In the final session, a non-stop ball beating was performed, lasting more than 5 full minutes. i was really not sure i could handle it, because in the first part, i had had a hard time executing a non-stop 4-minute-long beating (which itself followed a non-stop 3-minute beating), but Caitlin said SHE knew i would be able to do it. And, God, SHE was right. i did it, and i did it well! i am so proud of this. Caitlin really made me push my limits forward. For me, this is an illustration of how powerful is HER HOLY PUSSY. This uninterrupted 5-minute-long beating definitely pleased Mistress Caitlin. It made HER very relaxed and, along with the banging-driven killing of my clit, made HER HOLY PUSSY WET! YES!

As pointed out by the Goddess, the 5-minute record needs to be . . . BEATEN! SHE spoke of a 10-minute-long ball beating as a goal for the near future. This scares me quite a lot, especially when i think of how swollen those balls were after 5 minutes of beating. But SHE said SHE is certain i will be capable of reaching the 10-minute mark successfully, provided that i keep concentrating on the perspective that this will make HER pussy really wet!

—Written by a true loser, under the spell of Mistress Caitlin


La Douleur et le Sang: Please, Accept Me as Your Bitch, Goddess Caitlin!


Here i am, standing. Shaking and lost in the dark. Like a fragile bitch in the cold and hostile world.

Here i am, still alive though! Kept alive by the vibrant desire to adore Mistress Caitlin.

i can do nothing about it: i crave worshiping and serving Caitlin, and i pray for HER to let me do so!

Here i am, looking at my limp loser clit, which hangs miserably.

It is small, weak, bruised, and painful. It is now dead! YES!

i had to fuck it deep and beat it ruthlessly until it dropped dead to please Caitlin!

It was the price to pay to make Caitlin relaxed and happy!

i ruined my clit erection for Caitlin, and i love it! i confess i love it!

It is now a piece of disgusting dead meat, but at the same time, it is a superb clit because it meets Caitlin’s standard.

i am so glad i was able to kill it again for Caitlin!

i am aware of HER long-term plan for me: SHE wants my clit to become totally impotent!

It does scare me, but deep inside my brain, i know that in the long run, i will become an impotent bitch at HER feet.

My clit has no choice but to obey and follow the path toward destruction: that is its fate.


Here i am, standing. Looking at those balls. They are swollen, in pain, injured, and decorated with hematomas and blood!

SHE made me constrain them severely to turn them blue, the proper color for loser balls in the presence of Caitlin.

SHE then commanded several long-lasting ball beatings.

i knew it would be a nightmare, and God, it was, but i loved every single whack.

i had to beat them hard to please Caitlin, and i did! There is never too much ball beating going on for Caitlin! There are never too many hematomas decorating loser balls! There is never too much blood seeping out!

i did all of that, and i repeat that i loved it: i loved the pain; i loved the skin breaking; i loved damaging them;  i love the hematomas on them, and i love the released blood that is a positive indication of a successful beating. i love the way they look now. Indeed, they look beautiful because they were broken for the pleasure and relaxation of Caitlin!

It did make HER relaxed, and that is what matters! It also made HER holy cunt wet, and that is definitively a great achievement for me!

What a victory for Caitlin! As always . . .

Caitlin also has plans for my loser balls. First, i was told to start working on embracing the idea of decorating those swollen balls with sterile needles after prolonged beating.

i find this prospect very intimidating; however, i can sense that over time, sooner or later, it may well become reality, for nothing can halt the power of Caitlin’s perfect pussy. i have already been amazed by the strong power that flows from HER during prolonged ball beating. And the idea of making HER cunt wet by piercing my loser nuts drives me crazy.

However, HER true plan is a long-term plan. It has to do with permanent ball damage. It scares me to death, but again, when i question myself, i can tell that it could well happen, and if it does, i feel i would love it! Developing permanent ball damage in honor of Caitlin would definitely put me in the higher rank of loser bitches: the special category of losers able to break their balls for good to show their devotion to Caitlin!


Here i am, kneeling.

Begging for Caitlin’s attention. Begging for existence.

Begging for HER guidance, HER commands, and HER power.

Praying to still receive some of the light that emanates from HER perfect cunt.

Begging this holy and wet cunt to deliver me from sadness and depression.

Begging for HER shining power to save me from the darkness of this cold and hostile world.



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