The dominatrix – we’ll call her Mistress Emma - surveyed my body, bound tight by rope and anchored to the wall. My head was bowed both in reverence and as a sign of exhaustion. For the past hour, she had subjected me to inordinate pain and humiliation, bringing me to the breaking point. I was uncertain I could take more, but she told me had saved the most nefarious BDSM implement for last.

My mind, even in its weakened state, began to race wildly, conjuring images of what she could possibly have waiting for me. She threatened with the mere mention of this mystery object and mocked the resulting trembling lip and beads of sweat. But what could it possibly be?

Mistress Emma didn’t limit herself to verbal torment for much longer. After a few minutes she ripped off my hood, and even before my eyes had adjusted to the light, I saw her twirling it around her finger: a candy g-string.

Wait. What?

I thought she had to be joking, and a laugh escaped my lips. I knew immediately just how a grave a mistake that was.

“You dare laugh in my presence!” she bellowed. “You insignificant worm! I will show you just how cruel a mistress I can be!

With that, she stalked toward me, continuing to spin the g-string around her finger, and casting me an icy glare. I saw the box it came in lying on the floor a few feet away, the innocuous silhouetted image wearing the g-string on the front giving no hint to why this was something to fear. I simply couldn’t grasp how a candy g-string – something that wasn’t all that different from the candy necklaces I was given as treats as a kid – could possibly fit in with the image before me of a belligerent dominatrix, a gloomy dungeon, and…wait…is that a video camera? Oh shit.

And yet I couldn’t stop giggling – the absurdity of it all was…preposterous. I continued laughing even as she dug her nails into my thighs to wrench them apart to facilitate putting on the g-string. I noted how easily it stretched out to fit around my 33-inch (84 cm) waist, and figured the clear, strong, stretchy plastic that held the multi-colored candy could stretch to at least twice that length. Only once the g-string was in place, did my laughing stop.

Oh. My. God.

The pain. Oh my god, the pain. The tiniest movement caused adjacent candies to pinch my thighs, ass, penis, and worst of all, scrotum . Even worse was the fact that hairs were being pulled out viciously. All this despite the fact that in no way did the front of the g-string even come close to covering my equipment. I writhed in torment, which of course only made matters worse. All the while, Mistress Emma cackled with delight.

I begged for mercy, pleaded with her to end this inhuman torture. All I received back were sneers and maniacal laughing. The last thing I can recall thinking before passing out from the pain was thinking how much worse this was from the last time I was dominated.

When I regained consciousness, the laughter was gone – replaced by the clicking sound of Mistress Emma’s heels echoing through the dungeon. All my energy drained, I made no effort to acknowledge her proximity. All at once I felt her tiny hands on my waist as she yanked down the g-string, pulling out a good dozen hairs with it. My body jerked as she did so, but I simply couldn’t produce any further response to the searing pain she had just inflicted.

I figured that was the end of it, but I was wrong. After a couple minutes of hanging lifelessly (during which I imagine she removed all the hairs from the candy), she grabbed my throat, forcing my mouth open in the process. I could smell the faint, sickeningly sweet aroma as it neared my face before Mistress Emma shoved it into my mouth, and resumed her sinister cackle.

My immediate thought was, “This tastes like ass!” Of course, there was good reason for that, given where it had just been nestled. Once I moved past that particular taste, I noticed the taste of the candy itself. It was sweet, with a hint of tartness. It was exactly the same as the candy in a candy necklace – a thought that forever would ruin the memory of those halcyon days of youth. I later discovered that the entire g-string contained 380 calories, 90 g of sugar, and otherwise absolutely no redeeming nutritional benefit. The ingredients were a bit unsettling too, containing: dextrose, modified corn starch, magnesium salts of fatty acids, citric acid, flavorings, and colorings (Red 40, Yellow 5, and Blue 1)

It wasn’t until the sweet (and ass-flavored) drool emanating from my mouth formed a puddle at my feet that Mistress Emma finally released me from my bounds, and I crumpled to a heap on the floor. The g-string was in ruins – uncleanable before being forced into my mouth, and certainly more so now. While I lie there on the floor, experiencing a sense of ignominy and release that only someone thoroughly dominated can, I pondered how something so heinous could possibly be marketed as a mere “novelty.” Truly, Eden Fantasys has this product in the wrong category, and should instead be front and center in the BDSM section. Even then, this is not meant for vanilla BDSM play. Oh, no. Rather, this is a hard-core torture device to be used on people (unshaved men in particular) who are heavily into being dominated.

It’s difficult to look back on this experience and laugh even now, but the sole warning on the back of the packaging does make me laugh, albeit derisively: “May have an adverse activity on activity and attention of children.” To hell with the children! What about the adverse effect on my activity and attention while I was wearing it!

Bastards.