Thursday, February 4, 2016

My First Dominant

I think I started my search for a true, fulfilling D/s relationship since just before I was a teenager, when the feelings first surfaced in a tangible way.

As I've mentioned in earlier postings, I gained a strong desire for bondage and kink as a teenager, quite early in life. Before I even knew what "bondage" was. I just knew I liked tying myself up, and the feeling of being tied up. The feeling of being tied up quickly became associated with sexual arousal and pleasure.

Yes, it started out as a fascination with self bondage. The bondage became very sexual in nature. It then expanded to pain. Over the years I simply grew from wanting to be tied up, to needing the feeling of being bound and restrained during sex, and then wanting the bondage to become uncomfortable and even painful. The intensity of the experience was like a drug.

All of this required someone willing to tie me up; someone that would tie me, hurt me, take me sexually.

In other words, a dominant. And as I became more dependent on a dominant in my life, I became more submissive.

When I was 14, bondage was just play that was associated with kinky sex and was fun. Finding partners for this play at that age was really difficult. It actually started with some girls, at sleep overs. I introduced the idea of playing tie up games. Games with consequences; like... if you could get out of the tie in a certain amount of time you got to force a dare on the person that tied you. If you didn't, they could force a dare on you.

Most of the girls I hung with were not lesbian and so tying other girls up never went much of anywhere. I did have one girlfriend in high school that I had sex with a number of times. I remember doing it in the back seat of her car in front of her parent's house, and another time in the pool of our high school music teacher during a party. But she never had any interest in tying me up, or being tied up. She just loved sex with girls and I was the cutest girl around that was interested in lesbian sex.

Guys though... well, the problem there was that most of the guys in high school were stupid and incompetent. They could fuck, sure. I spread my legs, they would put it in and pound away. They even kissed me while doing it. It wasn't something they had to learn, it was instinct.

But bondage? Most guys were like, sure.... I'll do that... but then would fuck it up. Or they would get scared of me and worry I was going to turn it into some rape accusation and they'd end up in jail. That was a big problem; I even had a pair of handcuffs I had used for some self bondage scenarios, and none of the guys I fucked back then would use them. They were afraid I would go running out in the street screaming rape.

So, I spent time trying to find someone I could really get into bondage with. I did find one guy that would tie me up while I was dressed. He wasn't even a boyfriend, really, he just had fun tying me and this other girl up. He even tied us together some, which was actually pretty cool because I was exploring my bisexuality back then and loved being pressed close to another girl. This other girl, her name was Jayce, the few times we were tied together I remember wriggling and rubbing against her some. She wasn't really bi but she tolerated it.

So it was really just sort of playing around until I was 16.

My first real experience being tied up and completely sexually dominated came at age 16 with a 20 year old guy named Kevin who had gotten a taste for bondage and thought finding a cute 16 year old to tie up was the best thing ever. He had a sadistic streak, but I guess that's something of what I needed. Someone that would take it seriously.

I met Kevin in a night class at the community college. He was a tall and relatively good looking guy with sandy hair that was a little curly, a strong face, and pretty nice body. I liked how he was tall, I remember, he towered above me. We got along right away, and he asked me out. I don't think he knew I was 16 at the time.

We had a couple of dates, and he fucked me in the back seat of his car on the second date. When we were fucking, I remember his holding my wrists above my head securely, so I couldn't move them. It was a little thing, but it turned me on incredibly, the way he held me down and controlled me during the sex. I had an orgasm like a freight train, and he told me later I was the best fuck he had ever had. Strange, but that made me proud.

We went out a couple more times, and each time when we fucked he was completely dominant, pushing me down and holding me in place. Finally, like, on the 4th or 5th date I asked him to tie me up. His eyes just glowed like he was incredibly happy, and he got out some rope he had in his apartment and tied my wrists together and then up to the top of the bed; I could tell right away that he knew what he was doing because the tie was tight, there was no way I would get out of it, and he did it fast.

Just getting my wrists tied was enough for me to get off, about all I had ever had a guy do, but he also tied my legs apart. Ankles anchored to the side of the bed so I was spread wide. It was amazing. The feeling of helplessness was so incredible, I got a rush of adrenalin and was so aroused I was ready to cum right then. I mean, he could have done anything to me right then and there was nothing I could ever have done about it, and it got me off.

Well, Kevin fucked me. He fucked me in my cunt, but before he came he made me eat him, rough, deep. He shoved so deep down my throat I threw up a little, and had slime all over my chin. No guy had done that before, not that roughly. Don't get me wrong I had done lots of blow jobs by the time I was 16, but never rough where the guy just shoved it all the way down my throat to the point where my stomach just barfed. And there was nothing I could do, I was tied tight. I couldn't even protest, my mouth was full of cock. I just make gurgling noises.

After a while he stopped forcing the deep throat and he jammed something up my ass, I think it was a little statue of the Eiffel Tower, or something like that. It hurt like hell, but he jammed it up there and then fucked my cunt again until he was ready to cum.

Remember, I was still relatively inexperienced back then. I didn't expect it when he pulled out, moved up to my head and finished himself off, jacking his cock over my face and then letting go with solid streams of cum all over my face and hair. I was tied up and couldn't do a damn thing about it, I just lay there and let him smear his cum all over my face.

I did't realize I had a rape fantasy until then. What he did to me then, that time, was pretty close to rape except for the fact I had asked him to do it. Well, not the details, like forcing me to vomit on his cock or ram something up my ass, but I had asked him to tie me up and take me, yanno? And he did, just a little rougher than I had thought. I was naive.

That whole experience was really difficult for me to process. On the one hand, he had really gone too far, raping my asshole with an object, fucking my mouth until I vomited, and spurting his semen on my face. It was way intense.

On the other hand, I had sort of asked him for it. I wanted him to take me, to tie me up and then take me so I felt helpless. And believe me, I felt totally helpless. It was also an incredible turn on. I loved the feeling of helplessness.

There is a fundamental difference in the feeling of being tied up when you do it yourself, and being tied up and helpless at the whim of someone else who is going to do things to your body and you got no control over it at all. With Kevin, I discovered just how deeply my desire for that feeling of helplessness ran inside me. I really got off on being tied, and then taken. And if the guy did something I didn't expect, it just made me feel more vulnerable and helpless, and that's what I was getting off on.

It wasn't that easy finding a place and time to let Kevin tie me up and rape me. It took time, sometimes made a mess (I bled a couple of times, and there was vomit and drool and semen), and had to be private. I couldn't do it at my house. Kevin had an apartment, where we would do it, but we only did it when his roommate wasn't around. I was still in school, too, and that limited things a bit.

We'd find time, though, maybe once every couple of weeks, to do a scene. That was when I sort of learned about the whole concept of a scene; setting something up a specific way, and playing it out until he was satisfied sexually. Yeah, I got off on it too, but the real focus on the scenes was on him. Kevin had to get off. Kevin was the one who was in control, and if I climaxed that was fine, but ultimately it was Kevin's cum that mattered. That part was OK because it was all part of being dominated and helpless.

I was too young to realize it back then, but Kevin was an asshole. He wasn't a true sadist, and had no finesse. More and more he turned to just hitting me during sex. After a couple of bruises on my face, I had to ask him to cut it out, because my parents were all up in my ass, trying to figure out why I kept falling down at school (hey, I couldn't tell them my boyfriend liked to punch me out when we fucked, could I?)

Yeah, Kevin would tie me up, and fucked me and made me feel helpless and all, but after a while it was apparent that he wasn't a dominant, not truly. He was just more of a wife beater. He got off on tying me up, sure, and fucked me, but he was really nasty and just couldn't help himself from punching me or hurting me.

When he punched me one day when we were at Six Flags having some fun, and he got mad about something, that was the end. He wasn't dominating me, he was just mean. So I broke up with him. A week later he raped me, for real. I was leaving work (a fast food place) and he grabbed me and threw me down in the back bed of his truck and forced my legs apart and rammed home until he came inside. I didn't scream, I could have, but I think I was scared of him and our history together and didn't want to have to explain to anyone what we had been doing and why that time was different. But it was.

That wasn't the last time I was raped, but those are different stories.

Anyway, after Kevin, I realized I wanted and needed what he had given me. I needed the feeling of being tied and helpless, of submitting to another person and maybe even being forced to do things. Of feeling like I had no control over my body. I just needed that as part of a relationship, and with a lot more style. Like, some sort of mutual commitment. Just getting beat up and raped wasn't what I needed.

So, Kevin was actually the first guy that opened my eyes to my being a submissive, and he also showed me that he wasn't the true dominant that I wanted.

My search continued.


Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Diapers

Yes, you can tell from the title what happened to me recently. It has been one of the most (and perhaps the most) humiliating thing I have been through.

It was after the Halloween party. In general, that was quite successful; I made Jason proud, I felt sexy as hell, and apparently was the hit of the party from what people told me (though I couldn't see or hear it). Not to mention being strutted around totally enclosed in leather, pleather and PVC, blindfolded and strapped in public was an incredible turn on for me.

There was some great sex, too. With Jason, I assume. It felt like him. Since I couldn't see or hear I can't be 100% sure but I am pretty sure. I sure hope so, I don't really want to have sex with anyone else.

What bit me, my disobedience that night, was needing to pee. The outfit was complicated and telling Jason I needed to pee in the middle of the party wasn't a great idea, though I think I didn't have much choice. The alternative would have been to relieve myself inside the catsuit, and that would have probably resulted in worse punishment.

As it is, the punishment was bad enough.

It was Friday night following the Halloween party.

"Siobhan, please shave and clean yourself well tonight. We are going to change a few routines for a while and I want to make sure you are clean."

"Yes, Jason," I said politely. That night I shaved in the shower, made sure I was as smooth as possible and ready for whatever he had in mind.

Before going to bed, I presented myself to Jason for inspection. I stood naked before him with legs slightly parted as he sat on the bed. He approved.

"Good girl. Now, I have something for you."

Jason pulled out a package and ripped the plastic open. He pulled out an adult diaper, a full size replica of a baby's diaper.

As soon as I saw what it was I had a rush of emotion. Mixed feelings, really. One side of me was excited to have new play. It really is an exciting thing for me to submit to new kinks that Jason desires, whatever they may be, and this was certainly new.

The other side of me was a little more cautious though. I wondered what indignities would be going along with the wearing of a diaper. The more I thought about it the more I began to worry.

"Put this on, Siobhan. Make it nice and tight; we don't want leaks."

Leaks... OK. That meant something right there. It meant I was probably going to end up peeing in these things. I slipped on the diapers, adjusting them to make them comfortable and yet tight. They felt very strange, sort of soft and flexible but very bulky. The edges were elastic plastic that scratched a little but made a good seal. They smelled slightly of baby powder.

When I was done, Jason took out a roll of special tape. He explained as he secured my diaper with it.

"This tape is a special packing tape used to detect whether a package has been opened. In this case, you are the package, my dear. The tape has little strips that come off when they are removed. This makes it obvious if the package has been opened, even if you reseal it."

The tape went on both sides where the diaper was secured around my waist.

All in all, it was beginning to feel rather degrading wearing that thing.

"The rules around your wearing diapers are fairly simple. You may not take them off. You may not use the toilet. You must urinate and defecate into the diaper. I am the only person that can change the diaper. That's it. Those are the rules."

The reality and ramifications of what this meant was sinking in. Urination was one thing, but poop? It meant I would have to poop into the diapers, and then ask Jason to change me. I flushed beet red at the thought, the humiliation of what was going to happen, how I would have my own shit smeared all over my ass and cunt, and how he would have to wipe and clean me up.

"Jason... I ... I... am I allowed to ask why? Is this a punishment?"

"Well, Siobhan, after the incident at the party where you were unable to hold your urine, I thought perhaps you need to understand the results of being a baby with no control. If you can't control your body functions, you are going to have to be diapered for a while. Until you learn control like an adult."

I literally started to cry at that. It wasn't fair, though my relationship with Jason isn't exactly based on fairness. It is based on domination and submission. He was teaching me a very important lesson, that my body functions were not entirely mine. Jason was in control. He owned me, every aspect of me.

"I'm sorry, Jason. I'm sorry. Please... how long do I have to wear these?"

"Let's start with a week, and see how it goes. If you seem to have gained control, we might try you on some potty training and ween you off the diapers."

A week. It was like I had been dunked in ice cold water. How could that be? I had to work! I am an IT director for a large company, a professional office position. I have responsibilities with friends, with family, I have to shop. I was going to have to wear these diapers while I did all these things?

"Sir... how..." I was at a loss.

"You will have to choose your clothes well so the diapers are not too obvious. And of course, when you urinate and defecate will be up to you. If you don't want to embarrass yourself in public, you will control yourself."

My heart sank to my feet in despair. This was going to be rough. I was feeling completely humiliated and demoralized.

"Remember. If you undo the diapers, I will know. The security tape will show it."

"Yes, sir." I hung my head.

That first night was weird. I slept in the bed with Jason (I don't always, sometimes I must sleep in other locations if I am being punished or if Jason has decided I need to be reminded of my place). I was naked except for the diaper, which was a little bulky, but not too bad. I slept OK until the middle of the night when I woke and needed to pee.

I lay there thinking about it. Normally I would just get up and pee. But I wasn't allowed to use the toilet, I had to use my diaper. Ugh. Could I hold it? What for? One way or another I was going to have to pee in my diaper.

I actually got out of bed, went into the toilet and sat down on it, but instead of peeing into the toilet it went into the diaper. The familiar position made it a little easier to do, but when I was done my diaper was puffy and full of urine.

It wasn't like it was soaking cloth; the diaper material actually did a reasonable job of absorbing liquid and the liner kept it from getting me too wet. But I had... a full diaper. I felt so foolish. So embarrassed. As if I was incontinent.

Going into the bedroom, I shook Jason, waking him.

"Huh? What? What ... what is it?"

"Jason. I ... um... I wet my diaper. I need it to be changed." I think I had a tear trickling down, that was such a humiliating thing to admit and ask.

Jason sighed and lay there for a moment, then said, "Siobhan, just wait until morning. I will change you when I get up. Go back to sleep."

That was it. A bit of a shock. I was to wear my wet, full diaper for another couple of hours until he was ready to get up. It was awful, the idea of having to lay around in a wet diaper, soaking in my own urine. I wanted to cry again, just sob until morning.

I climbed back in bed, laying flat with my legs spread slightly so I didn't squeeze the diaper material and cause any urine to make it's way back out. It had started out warm from the heat of being in my body, but the urine quickly turned cold. I was laying in bed, waiting for sunrise, with a freezing wet diaper.

Jason's alarm finally went off and he got up and went pee in the toilet as I lay there. He came back, pulled the covers down and looked at me.

"Yep. Full diaper. Let's change you."

He got an oil cloth that he pulled underneath my hips. I lifted my legs slightly to give a better angle and he pulled the tape, loosed the diaper and removed it. Wow, what a fantastic feeling. Relief. I lay naked on the bed, my knees pulled up and legs slightly separated for him to work.

Jason wiped me with a baby wipe, and I was clean. He then gave me just a touch of baby powder, a nice feeling and scent, and then on went a fresh diaper. Sigh...

Choosing clothes was harder. The diapers were fairly slim, but still added an unnatural bulk so I could not wear anything tight. I could get away with loose fitting jeans, or skirts. I tend to wear clothes that accentuate my body; Jason likes me to look sexy. It was difficult but I finally settled on a skirt and dressed myself.

The day went well, but I learned quickly that I was not going to be able to just pee in my diaper and ask Jason to change me immediately. He would do it when he wanted to, and that was most likely going to be in the morning, or in the evening, and maybe at bedtime. So I would either have to live with a full, wet diaper for hold it inside myself. Which was worse? Both were bad. Holding pee inside is uncomfortable at first but slowly becomes more and more painful. Holding pee a long time is horribly painful. At some point, letting it go and living with a wet diaper was much preferable.

Then there was poop. It was easier to hold poop for a longer time, but eventually I had to let it out. When I did, I stank. When I did, I didn't want to do anything until my diaper was changed, because sitting, moving, whatever, smeared and smashed the awful stuff over my ass.

My first poop was around 4:00 pm, and fortunately, Jason agreed to change me at 5:00, so I just stood in the corner and stank and cried until he was ready. The clean up process was demeaning, but when it was over I felt a lot better.

Over the weekend I tried to get a handle on controlling my peeing and bowel movements. I changed what I drank to keep from having sudden, massive urges to pee at random times. Drinking water only allowed me to regulate and calculate when I would need to pee and I could sort of time things for when Jason was willing to change me.

My bowels were harder. I actually cut down what I ate significantly, going on a rather strict diet. The first couple of poops were awful, and I cried and hid while I waited for Jason to change me. Then my new diet kicked in and things were a little better, though still awful.

Monday morning was a test. I had been wearing diapers for two and a half days, and I was about to go to work, a place where I would not be able to hide or ask Jason for a change. I would be on parade in meetings and in hallways where everyone could see me.

I dressed conservatively in loose clothing. For anyone that paid attention, it was clear that something about me was different, though "diaper" was probably not what people thought.

The first day, Monday, I managed to go to about 2:00pm without peeing, but holding my bladder began to hurt around noon, and I suffered with it until 2:00. At that point I was sitting in my office, behind my desk, and lowered my head in absolute shame and let it go. I peed right there, into my diaper, in my office. A full bladder.

I tried to work for the rest of the afternoon from my office without moving. The smell was not bad at all, and sitting behind a desk no one would notice. I didn't make it. At 4:00 I left early for the day, headed home and waited for Jason.

At 6:00 PM on Monday Jason came home to find me naked except for my diaper, standing in a corner waiting for him to return. My diaper was full with two bladders worth of pee. I was holding a poop, and when he came in I asked to be excused, went into the bathroom, squatted and filled my diaper as full as it had ever been.

I then went out and asked Jason to change me, which he did.

In some ways that first work day was the worst. Tuesday I had gotten my schedule down better; I didn't drink anything at all (at the risk of dehydration) until late afternoon, and my limited diet meant no poops, or at least small ones that I could hold until I got home.

Thursday was difficult because I had an unexpected need to poop at 10:00 AM. I held it, or tried to, for some time. At noon I finally closed the door to my office, squatted and let the poop fill my diaper. It was a mistake.

I smelled. Terrible. I couldn't remain at work that way. But leaving my office, every single person I passed would know something was wrong, because I stank, and I mean I was potent. I did the best I could, waiting until the area outside my office was vacant, then heading toward the building exit. Of course I was stopped on the way by my boss, who wanted to check on some purchase order, and I could tell he smelled it and I had to explain I wasn't feeling well and had to go home.

"Yep, I think so," was all he said. I flushed bright red and left.

Jason wasn't going to be home until 6:00, so I ended up just laying on my side, curled up, with a completely full diaper, stinking. I cried, just like a baby. To make it all worse, I had diaper rash.

Yes, I had diaper rash. He point ointment on me, smearing it around. I cried while he did this, I was so humiliated. I decided right then I would rather that he have placed me on the wooden pony for a half a day of agony than to have endured this for a week.

Friday evening rolled around, finally, and Jason undid my diaper and cleaned me up for the last time.

"I think you have learned a lot of control this week, haven't you Siobhan?"

"Yes, I have. I've done the very best I can and I think I've done pretty well," I said honestly.

"What have you learned about your body control?"

I knew exactly what I had learned.

"I learned that you, my owner and master, are in ultimate control of my body, including all its functions."

Jason smiled really big at that. He was proud of me. That gave me a thrill, and I smiled back at him. He lay on top of me where I was, on the bed, slipped his hard cock inside me and fucked me really, really well.

I felt incredibly happy.

I hope to never see another diaper in my life, though.

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Halloween

I love Halloween. I love to dress up, I love the kids and the excitement, and the preoccupation with the mysterious and ghostly. I love horror movies and ghost stories. I also love candy.

And I love parties. Fetish parties. There is always a good fetish party on Halloween. This year it was at our friend Matt's. It is, of course, a costume party in addition to being a fetish party. The costumes people wear are pretty much to die for. Many of them are not street legal.

The party isn't an orgy or anything, though sexual things happen there all the time. It just isn't expressly for the purpose of sex; it's for the purpose of having some cool fun with costumes and other fetishists.

Jason prepared my costume this year. Usually he dictates what I wear to parties, pretty much, but this year he wouldn't even tell me what my costume was until the night of the party. We spent the evening giving out candy to the kiddies at the door. I was dressed normally, except for bare feet and no bra; I'm not allowed shoes or bra in the house most of the time. But my top was discreet and it was all cool.

At 8:30 we turned the lights out in the front, and turned most of the ones off inside, too. Jason told me to go to the bathroom and empty my bladder, and then go to the family room and remove all my clothing and wait there. This might seem strange to you, but I am used to having my body functions supervised by Jason when he desires it and I didn't think too much of it. I peed then went into the family room where I stripped, folding all my clothes neatly on the side table next to the TV and stood in the middle of the room, waiting for my husband and master.

Jason returned to the family room with a whole stack of clothing, folded and piled neatly. It was all black leather, or pleather in some cases. One or two of the items I recognized, others I didn't, as they were folded up and not recognizable.

Jason produced a container of baby powder. "Please apply this to your body, Siobhan. Make sure you put it everywhere, for your own comfort."

I took him seriously and started rubbing the baby powder all over my naked skin, starting with my shoulders, arms, my breasts, sides, stomach, finally my hips, between my legs, my ass, and my legs.

"Jason, could you do my back, please?"

"Sure," and Jason powdered my back.

"Now, put this on first." Jason handed me the first  and largest item of leather clothing. It was a catsuit. Zippered, form fitting, beautiful leather.

"Oh, Jason, this... this is wonderful. I love it!" I am sure my face was beaming, the suit had to have cost a fortune. That much custom leather and latex isn't cheap. I felt so privileged.

"Of course, Siobhan, and I know you are going to look fantastic in it. Get it on, please."

I slipped my legs in first. It was tight, and a bit of a struggle. It was designed to form fit my body tightly and smoothly and while it fit perfectly, there was still some effort to pull it on. Once my legs were in and the material adjusted to cover my legs I lifted the body portion up and began struggling my arms in. They went in a little easier, especially with Jason tugging and helping.

The suit felt sexy just going on. Sexy in a very kinky way; it was tight and confining, form fitting so it emphasized the exact shape of my body. The powder helped it feel comfortable as it went on. The quality of the material was amazing, there were no nasty stitch points that irritated skin and it was supple.

Jason zipped the body of the suit closed, and the leather tightened and hugged my body. It felt amazing. We tugged and moved the top a bit to get my breasts just right. I have reasonable sized C cup breasts, and the suit emphasized them beautifully. I was giggling like a little girl with a new party dress I was so excited.

"OK, let's do these next." Jason handed me boots. Ballet boots. Bondage ballet boots, with spiked heels that went... I don't know how far up but they were the tallest heels I would ever have worn. Jason had been thoughtful and provided me with some ankle socks that went on before the boots. Once they were on we slid the boots over my feet, which I pointed down to conform to the natural shape of the boots. It took effort to get the tight fitting material on, though the real tightening happened when they were laced.

The catsuit was actually confining and made some movement difficult. Bending over wasn't easy at all, so Jason tightened the boot laces for me as I sat on the couch. The laces ran halfway up my thighs, and when laced hugged my feet, ankles and legs tightly.

I tried standing on them, wobbled, and went right back down on the couch. "Wow... I've worn these before, but it has been a long time and these are really high. I am going to have to work to get used to them!"

"Good. I don't mind if you wobble a bit. They aren't supposed to allow you to run around. Their purpose is actually to make movement more difficult, as a form of bondage." Jason was admiring them.

I felt sexier every minute.

Jason produced the next item. An armbinder. This binder was one that we had owned for some time, and I was familiar with. A somewhat cruel device, it brought my arms together behind my back in a single sleeve. While this was no worse than having wrists cuffed behind your back, when the leather was laced up it squeezed and pressed arms together. If the laces were pulled all the way, my arms would be pressed together all the way to the elbow. This is uncomfortable, especially for long periods, though not unbearable.

My arms placed obediently behind me, Jason slipped on the armbinder sleeve and pulled it up. Two straps went around my shoulders to prevent me from trying to wriggle the binder off later. He began pulling the laces tight, starting at the bottom, moving to the top, bringing my arms together.

Armbinders are a strange experience for me; they don't feel comfortable and are very confining. But the also pull my shoulders back, which causes me to thrust my breasts out and emphasize them, which makes me feel sexy. I think they emphasize my body and ultimately I feel both uncomfortable and very sensuous in them.

When Jason had tied the last laces at the top my arms were pressed tightly together behind my back and movement was clearly getting much more difficult. The armbinder was extremely tight and added to the overall feeling of my entire body being completely encased in form fitting leather.

"Jason, we are going to the party, right? I am not sure how easily I will be able to get around in this."

"Don't worry Siobhan, you will do fine and I will be there to guide and help. Let's get the next item on."

He reached over to the dwindling pile of leather and extracted a gag. It was a small gag that had a little stubby penis shape that went in my mouth and a small strap / buckle that fastened behind my head.

"Any last words, Siobhan? You won't be able to speak much after this goes on."

"I love you Jason. I trust you to take care of me. I hope I look sexy for you tonight."

Jason kissed me lovingly, and then I held my mouth open and the gag went in. He buckled it behind my head.

At this point I was pretty much done; with my arms bound behind and feet in ballet boots there was very little I could do, and the gag would prevent me from communicating much. I had been transformed into his plaything, which was OK with me. It made me feel good.

I stood and waited, feeling excited by the restraints of my outfit.

The next item was a posture collar. Not a severe one, but one that would keep my head and chin straight. It was quite stiff. Jason wrapped it around my neck, and buckled it behind. It didn't prevent all head movement, but did make it tougher. Jason checked my breathing, had me walk just a bit while he held on to my arm to keep me from falling, and was satisfied.

There was a surprise next. Earplugs. I grunted and squeeled just a bit from behind my gag as I felt the soft rubber going into my ears and then slowly expand to seal them tight. I think my face showed my consternation as my hearing slowly went away, because Jason watched and smiled, knowing what I was experiencing.

And then for the final, crowning touch, the hood went on. A new leather hood slid over my head, was pulled tight against my face, and I felt laces being tightened in the back. The hood had no eyes or mouth, only air holes for the nose.

As I lost my sight, I realized the outfit was designed to not only make it very difficult to move but also insulated me from feeling most touch, from hearing, from seeing and from tasting. I was lost in a bondage world of isolated blackness. All I felt and was aware of were the tugs and jerks on my head as Jason tied the hood tight and finished the knots.

I think I panicked just a little right then, squirming against the armbinder and attempting to take a few steps in the ridiculously high ballet boots. Tears welled up in my eyes, unseen and invisible, and a quiet sob was stopped by the gag in my mouth. Then I felt Jason's hands grabbing my arms, keeping me upright and stable. I relaxed, breathed through my nose and let myself drop into subspace, completely trusting and giving myself to my master and owner.

Jason sat me down for a bit. He spoke to me and I discovered I could hear through the earplugs if someone spoke close to my ear, clearly and loudly.

"Stay seated here, I am going to get ready for the party myself, and then we can leave."

"Mgmmmgmmmphhh." I said.

And I was alone. Sitting, able to move but with difficulty, arms tightly bound behind my back, my senses stunted and covered. About the only sense I had unfettered was smell, and there was little to smell.

Waiting was tedious. I shifted position, got used to the various pinch points in the folds of leather encasing my body, and experimented with how much I could move my arms (not much). I was able to move my head back some, and side to side, though the collar kept my head in an upright position.

And I waited. Being alone in the blackness like that was disconcerting, but endurable.

Suddenly I felt Jason take hold of my collar, and fiddle with it, and then my collar was pulled, gently but firmly. He had attached a leash and was pulling me up.

I stood, and followed the pull of the leash, stepping carefully, walking in the ballet boots. We walked through the house and out into the garage where I was stopped. I stood and waited.

Hands gently pushed me down into a bent over position. I complied, trying to do as commanded by the prodding and pulling. I felt the car against my leg, as turned, and forced into a seated position, and then pushed gently over.

Jason drives an SUV and I was being placed in the back, laying down in the cargo area. It made sense. I couldn't be seen riding in the front all bound up and hooded, even on Halloween; Jason didn't want the cops called. I curled up on the floor and heard the muffled slam of the SUV hatch closing.

The party wasn't far, only about a mile, and the ride was comfortable. When the car parked and was turned off, the hatch was opened and the collar pulled, announcing it was time to wriggle and slide out of the back of the car. Jason helped, guiding my legs until I was standing. A bit of the colder air from outside seeped in through the leather, though I was pretty insulated.

Jason gave my crotch a quick squeeze.

"Mggmmgmm." I said.

The collar pulled me along and we entered the house. At least I assumed so.

I was completely blind, in the dark. I could tell whether I was walking on carpet or tile, but otherwise, had little clue to my environment or surroundings. I could, however, hear muffled sounds of the party. There were people nearby, though I could not hear what they were saying or even how many there were.

It felt incredibly strange to be at this party, surrounded by people, but unable to see or really hear them. Interacting with them was impossible. I was essentially Jason's display item. I stood on my toes, waiting, doing nothing but breathing and trying to interpret the few sounds that came through to my ears.

My collar jerked and I moved off into another area of the room, where I was stopped. I stood there, waiting.

I knew I was being observed, that my body was tightly fitted with the body catsuit, and that people would be admiring the outfit, but I had no idea who, what they were saying, or what was happening. I just stood, and waited.

The whole experience was both humiliating and arousing. I think I was soaked between my legs before too long.

I occasionally felt others brush up against me, or bump. The room was clearly full of people. They were drinking, having fun while I simply stood like a leather statue. I recognized a hand squeezing my left breast, and then the right. I didn't know if it was Jason or not.

Someone else felt my body, sliding down the side and between my legs. I reacted a little; with my arms bound behind me there was little I could do but my legs naturally came together, which almost knocked me off balance because of my precarious position on the toe boots.

The prodding and fondling went on for some time, coming in waves and then going away for a while. Then without warning, another hand would slide over my ass and feel my shape. I learned not to react but just let it go. I was completely helpless.

I needed to pee. Yes, I had gone before dressing in this outfit, but heck, it had been a couple of hours and my bladder had filled. What could I do? I sort of grunted at Jason, assuming he was nearby. At first nothing happened but then I felt the leash pull me in a direction and I teetered off following the pull.

It wasn't easy to get me ungagged because the hood was laced tight, but Jason did it. We were in a side room, a bedroom that was relatively private. Jason seemed unhappy.

"What is going on Siobhan. Are you OK?"

"I'm OK, more or less, the suit is hot and I'm sweating underneath, but I really need to pee."

"What? I told you to empty yourself before we left the house! I should let you pee in your suit and deal with it!"

"I did Jason. I did. You know I did. I can't help it if my bladder fills in the meantime, it's a normal human function!" I sort of snapped back at him.

Jason was really unhappy. "Siobhan, we are going to discuss this later, and not spoil the party. For now, let's go to the restroom there. I'd let you stew in your own urine but I don't want to stink up the party for the others."

He led me over to a side door and opened it. I knew taking the catsuit off was going to be a major problem.

There was a solution to the problem. The suit had a zipper, conveniently located between my legs and over my crotch. Jason unzipped, and when I spread my legs my pussy was well exposed. I sat on the toilet as Jason watched me relieve myself.

The armbinder didn't allow me to care for myself, so Jason kindly wiped my cunt with toilet paper. I stood and he zipped my cunt back up inside.

I was just thanking Jason, "Thank you, I'm sor----"

When the gag was shoved back in, and the hood was put back on, and laced nice and tight. Once again I was in darkness, simply following the lead of the leash as he pulled it along.

For another interminable period of time, who knows how long, I stood in various spots and did nothing but wait, and feel strangers occasionally grope my body. My ears started ringing and I saw patterns of light from the sensory deprivation. Sometimes I felt people grope and grab my body and then realized I was imagining it. I wondered if I was losing my mind.

At one point I was seated on a soft couch after having been led from one point to another. Jason (at least I assume it was Jason) forced my legs apart and I felt my crotch zipper being opened. I new the flesh of my pussy was the only part of me exposed now, and anyone in the room would be viewing it. I waited obediently, with my legs spread.

Fingers felt my pussy lips, sliding up and down. I was wet, I had been wet all evening, both from arousal and sweat, so the fingers slid easily, and then slid in. They felt like Jason's. I sincerely hoped they were. If they weren't there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

Then I felt a cock. The unmistakable feeling of a cock head pressing against my labia, spreading my lips, pushing
in, gently but firmly. I grunted through the gag as it slid in deeper, spreading me wide. I tried to feel and see if it was Jason's. Again, I hoped it was Jason's. It could have been Jason's, it was the right size.

The cock started pushing in and out of me, and I began moving my hips in rhythm. I heard people, as if there was an audience talking excitedly while someone fucked me, but by then I couldn't tell whether I was imagining it or not. I couldn't hear well enough, and had been hearing strange noises I knew were in my brain because of sensory deprivation.

Fingers massaged my clit as the cock pounded deep inside me, and a short while later I had an orgasm, grunting and wriggling against the tight leather that surrounded me. The cock wasn't done though, and continued pumping until it suddenly withdrew. I suspected, though I had no way to tell, that whomever it was, was spurting white sticky fluid over some part of my leather catsuit.

I sure hoped it was Jason. I was pretty sure it was, though I didn't know if others were in the room watching the show.

My crotch was zipped back up, and after a little while I was pulled up and we resumed visiting party goers that I could not see or hear, but occasionally felt.

A little while later I was pressed and made to spread my legs slightly. I felt something around my hips, barely feeling it through the leather, but after a moment I recognized it. A strapon. At least I assumed it was; it felt like a strapon harness. I've used them many times before and know the feel. I had no doubt that I had acquired an artificial cock.

The leash pulled me a few feet ahead and then hands gripped my hips. I could feel that I was being carefully positioned. I felt resistance on my hips, the end of the dildo pressing into the harness and just above my pussy. It was getting inserted into someone, I didn't know who.

Suddenly, I got a sharp whack on my ass and I reacted, instinctively, by moving my hips forward. Yes, there was resistance and I had undoubtedly just impaled someone. I pulled back a bit, and knowing what they were after began a rocking motion with my hips.

My legs were spread slightly, because the strapon had a crotch strap, plus with those ballet boots I needed the stability, I could fall over at any moment. I pushed back and forth, shoving the dildo into whomever was in front of me, over and over. I felt his/her hips, but couldn't tell whether it was male or female. The leather deadened any detailed sensations.

This went on for about 5 minutes when I felt another smack on my ass, several in a row, and I picked up thrusting speed. It appeared that whomever I was fucking was getting close to orgasm.

And then it was over. I was pulled back and stood motionless. Someone did something to the dildo of the strapon, I couldn't tell what and then I was guided back and felt the same pressure and resistance. Someone else wanted to be fucked. Well, OK. I could do that.

I give this person a good fucking, pushing hard. I am almost certain it was a girl because the hips and ass I kept bumping against were small. I had no idea how big the dildo was, but didn't care. If I was being used this way, I was going to give it my all. I shoved and pushed harder and faster until I felt someone stop me and pull me back. Whomever I was fucking had had enough.

The strapon was removed and I stood waiting, once again. The distant sounds of the party were continuing around me.

My legs were aching from having moved around and standing in the ballet boots. Standing on your toes, even in supportive boots, can really hurt, and my calves were burning. I was moving my head, the only part of me I could really move much, back and forth, frustrated with the pain and physical exhaustion.

Finally, finally, the leash pulled me and I walked carefully some distance. The cold air of the night seeped into my costume through some cracks, so I knew we were leaving. I felt the car bumper, and with Jason's help maneuvered into place in the back cargo area.

A few minutes later we were home, I was inside, and Jason was removing my hood and gag. It was such a relief!. I breathed deeply (the hood air holes worked, but didn't allow for deep breaths), and shook my head, scattering my hair about.

"Thank you! Thank you Jason, that feels so good to get off!"

Jason began removing the armbinder. "You did generally well, Siobhan. I know you couldn't tell but you were... well... the life of the party. The focus of attention."

The armbinder slid off and I carefully moved my arms, loosening my shoulders. The muscles needed to be stretched back out, but gently.

"Really? I could not hear much, but kept feeling people touching me. Please... tell me that was you that fucked me?"

"Of course, dear, that was me. Other than that, I am not going to share any of the details with you. I think it is more fun for you to never know exactly what happened tonight."

"What??? Oh, please Jason! What happened? Who grabbed me? Who was I fucking with that strapon?" I begged him as he undid the ballet boots.

"Nope, Siobhan. You are my owned property, and I used you tonight as I please, and there is no need for you to know. I think this is an object lesson, something that will enhance your obedience. You not only need to obey, you need to accept you may not always know everything that happens around you, or even to you."

Well, that was frustrating. Still, I understood. I stepped out of the catsuit and felt the cool air hit my naked body. It felt more wonderful than anything I could remember, just then.

"Oh... that feels good. Oh, my god, that feels good." I spread my arms and turned around, feeling fresh air, seeing things, hearing things, feeling good and carefree.

"I can make you feel better, Siobhan." Jason put his arm around my waist, pulled me to him, and kissed me deeply while one hand went between my legs and slid across my wet pussy.

I melted into his arms, and let him take me.

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Peaks of Pain

Some have asked me what hurts the most of all the punishments, restrictions, bondage and the like that I have experienced. What was the most painful? Was it worth it?

That's a sort of hard question to answer because any one punishment type might result in a lot of pain or discomfort one time, and not another. The most pain I've experienced is typically when something unusual has happened, perhaps something went wrong. Like a pulled muscle.

I've actually hurt myself as much as anyone else has. It happened during a self bondage session when I was a teenager, probably about 15 or 16 years old. If you read earlier entries you might recall I started experimenting with tying myself up at a rather young age, before high school, and before I even understood that bondage was a kink people practiced.

By the time I was well into high school I was also well into self bondage. I had read up on it some, gotten ideas and the like. My first experiment with it almost ended in complete disaster (being discovered by my parents) and taught me quite a bit. I fortunately got out of the tie before anyone came home.

The easiest way to do self bondage is with locks on some sort of timer, but I had not come that far, and didn't have the equipment available to me. So I made do with rope. I either incorporated a slip knot of some sort, a hook grab onto a loop and pull the rope apart, or a knife of some sort. Playing with how far I had to go to get to the knife, and how I had to struggle to get it were one part of the play.

I always tied myself up naked. It was a sexual experience, totally. I was aroused, wet, and afterward I always masturbated.

So this one time I had just mastered the concept of a cinch knot tie for my wrists and was trying it out. The whole idea is to be able to tie your hands behind your back, yourself, tighten the loops and then not be able to get out. The concept fascinated me and the helplessness I felt doing it really made me feel amazing. Reading about it, practicing it made me wet and I would finger myself as I read and practiced with rope.

I had a good long length of soft cotton rope. I had learned not to use nylon and other types of rope that were coarse and hard and left abrasions. Not because I minded the discomfort (I sort of liked it, actually), but because it left physical marks that were hard to explain. This cotton rope worked really well; it didn't leave marks (well, not bad ones) and would tighten nicely, even stretching a bit.

This particular scene I did in the garage. The garage was cold and dark, not a comfortable place to work at all. But it had the unique quality of being outside the house, and thus making me feel even more vulnerable and exposed while naked, but still being closed so no one could see me. I would dream, fantasize about being kidnapped and held in a garage or basement.

I entered the garage, turned on the dim light and removed my clothes, folding them neatly on the side. When I was naked I began to feel the amazing arousal and vulnerability, exactly what I liked. It was cold in the garage, and I shivered a bit.

First, I shoved some old panties into my mouth. They went in a little at a time, shoved in slowly until my entire mouth was packed tight and bulging. Duct tape went across my mouth, behind my head and back around twice, making a very secure gag. I was only going to be able to make muffled noises. This process already had me getting wet, it was arousing as hell to go through the preparations.

I inserted a homemade dildo I made out of some molded play-dough with a lubed condom over it, and duct taped it in place. I felt filled, and it was uncomfortable. Just what I wanted. I wanted the feeling of being kidnapped and raped against my will, completely helpless.

Two short pieces of rope tied around each breast, causing them to bulge out. My breasts were still something of a novelty to me, and this part made me feel especially sexual.

Pulling on the garage door opener emergency release disconnected the opener from the actual door. The mechanism would still slide back and forth on it's rail, but it wouldn't pull on or open the door. Pressing on a garage door remote reeled the opener mechanism all the way back, as if the door were open.

I then took the end of a piece of rope cut to a carefully measured length and tied it to the catch of the opener slide that normally connected to the door. Throwing the other side of the rope over a rafter, it dangled down. That end of the rope had a cinch tie prepared on it, ready for my wrists.

The cinch tie works by having a single length of rope that looped several times around my wrists, and a separate hangman knot in the middle. When you slip your hands inside the loops, pulling on the rope will tighten the cinch knot and voila, you are in wrist bondage without having to tie yourself in. I didn't put myself into the cinch knot just yet, though.

Instead, I folded my legs at the knees and took two belts and wrapped them around my thighs and ankles, so that my legs were firmly secured back into a frog-tie (I didn't know what that was back then, I just knew it made me feel completely helpless, and amazingly aroused). The idea was that my legs would be immobilized, unable to move much to get away, but still could be spread as if I were being kidnapped and raped. I needed that, as the dildo secured inside my vagina was pretty large.

My nipples were hard at this point; I played with them just a bit. Part of it was the cold of the garage, but part was the incredible situation I was putting myself into.

So, I was on my knees in the middle of the garage with the cinch knot behind me on the concrete floor. I put my arms behind my back, wrists together, and wriggled into the cinch knot. The homemade dildo stuck up inside me was uncomfortable, poking into my cervix as I wriggled around.

The whole thing was amazingly delightful. The only thing I wished I could do is provide some masturbation technique while tied up like that. I wanted to feel that dildo shoving in and out of my cunt. I wanted the sensations of being tied up helpless and raped.

Now came the ultimate goal of the scene.

On the floor next to my hands was the garage door remote. I leaned back, and got it into my hands. I sucked in a few breaths through my nose, feeling the cold on my naked skin, the tensions of what I was going to do filling my body. I savored that moment, and imagined I was a helpless victim.

Then I pressed the button on the remote.

The garage door opener sprang into life, and slid out and away from where the rope hung over the rafter. As it did so, the rope was pulled along with it. Yep, the rope rose behind me, lifting my arms up and tightening the cinch. Almost immediately I felt the wrist restraints tighten and cut off the blood flow to my hands. The opener continued to pull my wrists up behind me, lifting my body up to where I was supporting myself only on my knees.

That was enough. The wrist restraints were tight and secure, I was pulled up off the floor, helpless. But the opener wasn't done. It kept going. I had measured everything carefully, except... the length of the track for the opener. It kept pulling the rope further, my arms raising up behind me, higher and higher into a full strappado position. The wrist pain was the least of my problems; my shoulder and upper arms were twisting and pulling and the muscles began to scream in protest. Muscles twisted and wrenched in ways they weren't designed to, and I let out a muffled scream.

Muffled because the gag I had applied did a really good job. Good thing, too, because I could not help screaming and if someone had heard me they would have actually tried to help, revealing the completely inappropriate activity in which I was engaged.

I had only misjudged the length of the garage door opener pull by about a foot, but that was enough. With a creak, a grinding and mechanical straining noise, the opener pulled my rather skinny body off the ground. When it stopped, my knees were dangling about 2 inches above the ground, though it could have been 20 feet; it didn't matter to me. I was suspended in strappado arms twisted behind me, my body leaning forward slightly, my young but large breasts dangling forward.

The garage was cold, hard, dirty and I was naked, tied and in pain from the strappado position. I had not intended to be lifted off the ground. I figured I would have maybe 6 - 10 inches extra slack, and my knees would be supporting me. As it was I was dangling, pain rippling from my wrists, down my arms, cramping horribly in my shoulders and chest.

It was time to press the garage door remote button, and let myself down, pronto.

Except that little remote wasn't in my hands any more. The strain of the cinch tie and pain of the strappado had weakened my grip and it was on the floor behind me.  I was stuck. I didn't know it at the time, but the strappado position I had placed myself into was an ancient medieval torture technique. Had I realized this I might have thought twice about it.

I hung with my arms almost vertical up behind me, the cinch tie cutting off circulation to my hands. And trust me, it hurt. I am surprised I didn't dislocate something. Tears streamed down my face, every struggling movement I made increased the torture. I didn't know what to do and started to panic. It was two hours before my parents came home and I could not face hanging in the strappado position that long, and then be discovered when the garage door failed to go up and they investigated, only to find their 15 year old daughter tied and suffering, dangling from a rope hanging from a rafter.

OK, so there I was hanging, slowly swinging back and forth, naked and cold and in pain, arms pulled painfully behind me and the remote on the floor.

There was literally nothing I could do. My weight on the cinch knot of my wrists made it far too tight to wriggle free. I tried a little, but it was obviously useless. My legs were bound back quite securely. If the buckle had been positioned at my inner thigh, I might have tried to rub the leather belt strap, pulling it through and maybe get loose that way. But I had buckled the belt in the easiest place to reach; the top of my thigh, and slightly off to the side. Waving the stump of my legs around would accomplish nothing.

My knees were only a couple of inches from the floor, too. The pain in my back and shoulders and arms was making me sob, I could tell there was some damage in my left shoulder. If only I could reach the floor and support some of my weight, at least I would be slightly more comfortable.

I bounced myself a bit, as best I could, thinking I could bend the garage door opener drive rail a bit, so my knees could touch the ground. It was agonizing. The bouncing, what little I could get going, actually caused much more severe pain. (Years later I learned this was similar to the medieval torture variant called squassation).

The bouncing motion was accomplished by my leaning forward as much as I could, lessening the angle at which my arms extended upward in relation to my body, and then suddenly releasing, causing my body to drop down slightly. Each drop caused me to scream into the gag again, and sweat was streaming down my face, in spite of the cold in the garage.

The third time I dropped, the garage door opener broke. One of its supports yanked free and I was dropped to the floor with the opener hanging above me, only partially suspended by one support. I rested for a bit, letting the pain subside some, and then slowly wriggled free.

When my parents came home I was mostly recovered, though I had to tell them that I had twisted my arm (my left shoulder was a lot worse than my right) when trying to climb up to the garage rafters to get some old ski equipment. I had slipped, grabbed the opener as I went down, and twisted my arm in addition to pulling the opener loose. A lame excuse, but the only one I could come up with. I went to the doc, who gave me anti-inflammatory meds and a sling. I wore the sling for a two weeks.

That was actually the point when I began to realize I needed a bondage partner. I couldn't keep doing this to myself and taking the risks.

The other time I can tell you about when I had significant pain during a session was with a boyfriend just before Jason. His name was Ben. We were only together about 6 months. He was a good bondage partner because he was really into it, he dominated me and was very skilled. But... he wasn't always as aware as he should have been.

In this case Ben had tied me to a chair and had tied some string to my nipples. Except it wasn't string. It was thin enough it was almost like thread. It was tied tightly, and the thread ran up overhead, over a bar and then was tied to some weights, pulling my breasts up from the nipples. He then proceeded to cane the underside of my breasts. Caning stings and can hurt a lot, but after a bit I began to realize the real pain was from the thread around my nipples. And of course, just then he added more weight to the threads, further tightening and stretching my poor nipples.

I was crying, with snot running down my nose and mixing with the foaming saliva around my ball gag. I tried to tell him something was wrong, that I thought the nipples were getting hurt too badly. It took a while for him to realize (he was too busy turning the underside of my boobs into angry red stripes), but he finally undid me.

Thing was, the thread was too thin to untie. I sat there tied to the chair for 5 minutes, crying from the pain in my nipples while he looked around for something that would work. Scissors were completely useless. He finally got a small exacto knife. He tried not to cut me but it was useless, I ended up getting two or three nice deep lacerations where he dug underneath the thread to get it off.

When I was finally free, I just curled up and cried. I think my nipples hurt for several days after that and were incredibly sensitive for a couple of weeks.

There are other forms of pain that I've experienced, some quite deep. One of the most disturbing types of pain is from slow, constant, boring situations that just go on and on. It's one reason I hate the wooden pony so much. The pain is bad, it starts off uncomfortable and just very slowly gets worse and worse. You rock and wriggle, trying to get some relief, which works for a bit but after a while nothing helps any more.

Then you look at the clock, and realize you are there for two hours and it has only been 20 minutes. The second hand crawls around, slowly, oh so slowly counting off the minutes. There is nothing to do. Nothing to amuse yourself. Just the slowly growing pain as it penetrates the cunt and spreads to the hips, the back begins to cramp from sitting in that awkward position without any support from your legs. Depending on where your legs are tied, they might start cramping as well. An hour in, and you will do anything to make it stop, and tears are beginning to trickle down your cheeks. But the time isn't up. In fact, it is going slower than ever.

It's the psychological aspect of this punishment that gets to me. The slow, relentless torture that starts as discomfort and slowly grows to agony with no immediate end in sight.

These days I suffer on the wooden pony about once a month or so. Sessions are as short as a half hour (pretty uncomfortable) to four hours (agonizing). Jason's pony is a simple saw horse. The top rail upon which I sit is thinner than a 2x4, and tends to sink deep between my labia lips, causing a lot of deep pain.

I gladly suffer for Jason. He is my owner, my husband, my lover, my master. I am his to do with as he pleases, and if he pleases to make me suffer, then I will suffer for him. It doesn't mean I always like it. I hate the wooden pony.

Saturday, July 25, 2015

Losing My Virginity

This isn't really a story about my time with bondage, or as a slave to my owner, Jason. I've been asked to tell the story of when I lost my virginity, so I thought I would give it a go. It's short, and here it is.

I was young. I won't say how young, but I had not gotten my driver's license yet. I dated and had some sexual experience but not a lot. Making out in the backs of cars, hands down pants, my top undone. I had already discovered the fun of making a guy cum with my hand. It was remarkably easy.

There had been a couple of boyfriends, but at that age the relationships aren't deep and don't last long. I was (and am) cute, and a lot of guys asked me out, though it seemed the ones I really wanted were frequently too shy.

Anyway, my first real boyfriend that I liked and wanted to be with long term and thought I was in love with (I didn't really understand love back then), was a guy named Kevin. Taller than me by quite a bit, a good body and very nice. He was respectful, kind, and always showed thoughtfulness. And he was damn good looking.

Whenever we had the opportunity we always ended up making out. I discovered dry humping with Kevin, an interesting activity (if a little frustrating at times). He was older and drove, and sometimes if we were lucky we had time to find a place to park, and the clothes would get loosened and hands dug deep.

During this time we developed a sort of pattern where his fingers would slide under my jeans and find my pussy, and my hand would find his cock (always rock hard), and we would masturbate each other as we kissed and pressed together as best we could in his car. He always came, semen going everywhere, on my hands, in his pants, even once on the outside of my jeans (I was terrified my mom would see it and know what had happened).

Kevin knew I was a virgin. I honestly don't know if he was or not. But the makeout sessions had been getting hotter and more intense, and I had actually had an orgasm or two, and he had cum in my hand (or spurt god knows where else) at least 10 times.

One night we ended up at a party. It was at a friend's house, not really an organized party just a bunch of us going over to this guy's place because his parents were gone and we liked to hang out. There was no drinking (a rule this guy had), though we had smoked a little before going over there. It was cool just hanging out and being free for a while. I remember a couple we knew were there, and he was laying on the floor and she was on top of him (fully clothed, both of them), and grinding her hips slowly, casually against him.

Kevin and I wandered back to an extension of the living room, which was kind of an L shape so the end we were on was somewhat hidden from the living room. There was a giant bean bag chair and we plopped down and started kissing.

I gotta tell you, I loved kissing and making out with that guy. I thought I loved him, and he made me so hot and horny; it really was easy to just fall into his arms and go a little further each time. We kissed and felt each other through our clothes for a while, but in spite of the fact we were in a house with like, 6 or 7 other kids, we just got carried away. Buttons came undone, zippers slid down, my top was pushed up and his hands under my bra.

The bean bag gave way and conformed to our bodies, and while we were sort of side by side, he was more on top than I was. The shape of the chair sort of held in place, keeping me in one position under him as he pushed my jeans down and gained access to my pussy.

I was so wet. I mean, my body was ready. My legs spread some, one leg over the edge of the bean bag chair, and Kevin pushed and strained for better access, his fingers getting wet from my pussy. My hand had found his cock and his pants had slid down below his ass. I was stroking, playing with it in ways that I knew drove him crazy and would result in his spurting on me pretty soon.

He shifted his body over, moving his cock closer to my pussy, and started rubbing it against the outside top, right over my clit. I swear, I was breathing so hard, I was so horny I wasn't seeing straight.We both had let go of each other, our hands were no longer on each other's genitals, but were wrapped around the other as his hips pushed and slid across my bare pussy.

I was going to cum, and I could tell he was getting there. His jeans were only down around his thighs, but mine were down around my ankles, allowing me to spread wide. His cock continued to slide on my wet vulva, and I could think of nothing else but wanting him inside me. I didn't think about pregnancy, about disease, about the wisdom of actions at my age... I just wanted that cock to push inside me. I could taste it. I needed it.

So I reached down and adjusted his cock position just a little. No more than an inch, just enough that the head was pressed against the folds of my flesh, the entrance to my vagina.

He had been pushing, sliding up and down for a while and when I repositioned him, he stopped. Just... stopped. What??? His cock just sat there, gently pushing against the outside of my pussy.

"Are you sure?" he said. The guy was being chivalrous. Oh my god, I loved him. I nodded, "yes"...

What I didn't say was "fuck me, I want you to fuck me more than anything, you idiot!"

That was what was in my mind, though.

He pushed, gently. It was bigger and surprisingly tight. I hadn't realized what it would feel like; but he was being gentle. My back arched, I gasped a little and he stopped for a moment. I think the head of his cock was in, just barely inside me. The slowly, gently, he pushed a little more. My legs were spread as wide as the bean bag chair would allow (plus my jeans and panties were around my ankles).

It felt just fucking amazing to feel his bare hips between my thighs, and feel his cock sliding into me, however slowly. I was being filled for the first time, penetrated. I had given this to him, and he was taking me, and I wanted him inside, deep, as deep as he could go.

Didn't happen. As he pushed deeper it got more difficult. I was tight; too tight. As gentle as he was being, it was a little overwhelming. I urged him on a bit more. He slid out just an inch, to where his cock head was barely inside, and then pushed back in again. I gasped again, he was big and I was tight and while it did not hurt, it was uncomfortable. I wanted him so badly... but began to feel my body wasn't quite ready to receive a pounding.

His cock was about halfway in, I think. He slid in and out a couple more times, each time my eyes sort of glazed over in a combination of mental ecstasy, physical pleasure, and physical pain. My ass was ensconced in the form fitting bean bag chair, unable to move, and I was going to just have to keep my legs spread and taking his thrusts. I wanted it.

But, I finally decided we had done enough, and said just that. "That's enough..."

He slowly slid out of me. The remaining memory of his size spreading my flesh, distending it, filling me and penetrating inside me, stayed in my mind and feeling.

I finished him with a hand job, this time with his semen spreading on my stomach. He carried a handkerchief that he used to clean me off.

We held each other, and the feeling of his solid, real body in my arms was wonderful.

It was a week later, in his room upstairs and his parents oblivious downstairs, that we did it again, this time with me naked on my back, legs wide, knees up, and his cock deep inside me, pushing until he spurt inside and left his seed to seep out later. That was a novelty and something I had to discover. Having sex results in some cleanup and body fluids draining out.


Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Burning Dinner

I don't like pain. Pain hurts. I'm like anyone else, I tend to avoid pain.

Even so, as my desire for bondage and submission has developed during my life, pain has been an integral part of it. Starting in the earliest teen years my self bondage involved only basic discomfort and the discomfort was a direct result of the bondage; being tied up tightly and unable to move results in being uncomfortable and is part of the experience. Muscles cramp, rope chafes and cuts, handcuffs pinch. I've always embraced the discomfort of tight bondage and it has very much enhanced my enjoyment and satisfaction.

As I grew older and more advanced in my desires, acceptance of discomfort gave way to acceptance of pain. I may write at some point of my first experiences as a teen with boyfriends that accepted (and in some cases took advantage of) my desire for sexual bondage, and how these experiences introduced the idea that pain was a direct manifestation and reflection of how I had lost control. That loss of control is what I sought, so much so that when I felt the first twinges of ache, cramp or constricted blood flow, I also became aware of nipples hardening and wetness between my legs.

No, I don't like writhing in pain. But pain is part of my total submission and the control of another and enhances and excites me. In that sense pain is satisfying, it clarifies and sharpens the sensations of helplessness that I crave, down deep. In that sense I enjoy pain.

Jason and I had been married for almost four years and it was turning out to be the best decision of my life. It hasn't always been the easiest, but I've been more sexually and emotionally satisfied as Jason's slave than I ever dreamed I could be.

There was a time when I had behaved very well for some time, learning how to obey and satisfy my husband and owner. His needs were taken care of, his desires catered to, his passions satisfied. As a result I had earned the right to wear clothes in the house, and was seldom restrained in any significantly uncomfortable or painful way. In other words, it was getting boring.

I took matters into my own hands. One night I came home from work, changed clothes into my usual attire (that night it was tight jeans and a button blouse, unbuttoned halfway to reveal braless breasts) and started to work on dinner. Jason arrived a half hour later and came into the kitchen. I continued cooking the Chicken Marsala, forcing him to come over and touch me before I turned to greet him. (Normally I will greet him in some submissive way, by kneeling, or kissing his cheek and taking his coat, or serving him in some other simple manner). This was a minor infraction, but just the beginning.

The Chicken Marsala was coming out well. Too well. I let it simmer and turned up the heat on the pan, as well as the pot with pasta boiling. A lid on the pan kept the smoke from spreading until it was too late-- the chicken was burned. Stirring the pieces that were slightly blackened and stuck to the bottom, I kept the heat going. The pasta grew hard and burned as well. Garlic green beans were brought to a boil but immediately removed before they completely thawed; they would be nearly inedible.

Satisfied, I called Jason to dinner (another infraction). Coming to the table his face was dark, as if troubled by something. I served him dinner, and sat down to eat with him. As planned, the dinner was crappy. The chicken tasted of charcoal, the pasta was rubbery and hard, and the green beans were actually cold on the inside. Jason tried to eat, but after a few bites he put is fork down and looked at me.

"Are you serious?"

"What is it Jason? I've had a hard day and am in no mood." If that didn't do it, I didn't know what would.

Jason looked at me with a red face and quietly got up, cleared the plates on the table and returned with my leash. (I wear a permanent slave collar, so a leash is all that is needed).

"Remove your clothes," he said in a quiet but stern voice.  I unbuttoned my blouse and slid it off (no bra underneath, not allowed at home). My jeans were pealed off. I am not allowed to wear shoes in the house, so when my panties came off I was completely naked except for my slave collar.

The leash was clipped to my collar. I hung my head with my hair falling to the sides of my face as he led me into the kitchen, where he strapped my elbows behind my back leaving my hands and wrists free but with very limited movement. The leash was then clipped to a small ring in the wall. The leash was long enough I could move around the kitchen but could not leave the area.

"Clean this travesty of a dinner up, and report to me after." His voice made me a bit scared, and I nodded and set about cleaning dishes. It was difficult, really difficult with my elbows pinioned behind my back. Instead of 10 minutes it took 45.

"Sir, I am done," I called over to where Jason sat in the living room. Being naked, restrained and in trouble made me shiver with arousal. It felt good, though being naked in front of a clothed male, even my husband, always made me feel very vulnerable. I was nervous, anticipating more punishment. The nerves heightened my senses and emotions, making me excited and aroused.

Jason let me stand in the kitchen for a while as he watched the end of a sitcom on TV. I stood and waited obediently. When it ended he came over, unclipped my leash, unstrapped my arms, and told me to get my razor.

"You have not shaved properly or well. Do it now."

"I think I am fine down there. I shaved just a couple of days ago," I responded. Talk back like that is direct disobedience and I could tell was having the desired impact on Jason. He was pissed off.

"Go get the razor. Shave yourself before me. Now." Jason's voice was quieter but more dangerous. I figured I had achieved what I needed to achieve and maybe gone too far. I obediently obtained the razor and some shaving cream. Really, I was pretty clean down there, though it had been a few days. Returning I presented myself to Jason.

"Go ahead. I want to watch to assure you shave especially close. Completely smooth."

This was a little odd but I sat, spread my legs, and began running the razor between them. Shaving in front of Jason made me feel even more vulnerable and exposed. I can't remember ever doing that before, and it felt very strange. Shaving close to assure I was completely smooth left the flesh of my pussy slightly raw, but only very slightly. When I was done, Jason came over and touched me, verifying the job I had done.

"All right. Now. On the floor, on your back. Legs spread. Masturbate for me."

Yeah, this was turning out to be a somewhat strange evening, but not entirely without precedent. I slipped down, spread legs wide, and began rubbing slowly. Jason watched as I ran my fingers on the folds of flesh between my legs, feeling the pleasure of touch, enjoying exhibiting myself for him. It actually feels good to expose myself for him; I like the attention and focus, though it does make me feel very open and helpless.

Dipping my fingers inside myself I took the wetness that was welling up and smeared it over the outside of my pussy, up over my clit. I rubbed harder, feeling the pleasure coming in slow undulating waves. My other hand pinched my nipples. I felt myself reaching an orgasm. He would observe me as I reached sexual climax, My fingers were rubbing hard now, and fast. I forgot exactly what I was doing on the floor and just felt my body glowing as the pleasure flooded through me.

My hips jerked up, thrusting as if there was a cock entering me, though there wasn't. It was instinctive when I came. I moaned, whimpered a little, and then slowed. Panting on the floor I calmed, letting the pleasure slowly drain away.

Jason had observed me closely during the show. Now he lifted me up to stand and guided me upstairs to our bedroom. He led me to the corner and instructed me to stand with my face to the wall. I stood obediently and waited while he moved about the room, preparing something. I was getting nervous; obviously the acts of obedience downstairs were not my true punishment. He had something more in mind.

"Come over to the bed. Lay on it with your ass on the pillows."

There were three pillows piled up in the middle. I climbed into our marriage bed and lifted my ass up and over on top of the pillow pile. When I was positioned, my hips were propped significantly higher than my body, though the pillows made it comfortable. The way my hips were thrust up accentuated my mons pubis and hip bones. I wondered if he might fuck me then.

Part of Jason's prep was four lengths of rope. They were a good soft hemp he had used before. Doubled back on itself to make two strands, he wrapped one piece around my right ankle, slipped the ends through the loop and pulled tight. Two more wraps around and the ends through another loop and my ankle was secured tightly. He pulled the rope to one corner of the bed and tied the loose end trailing from my ankle to a small eye ring installed in the bedpost.

He did the same to my left ankle, and when done my legs were spread and secured tightly to the lower corners of the bed. I'd been in this position before, usually when he wanted to fuck me while I was tied up spread eagle. I wasn't sure he was just going to fuck me after that fiasco of a dinner service, but there I was, hips lifted high, legs tied wide apart, ready to accept him inside whether I liked it or not.

It was time for my wrists; a couple of loops and the rope tightened and stretched my right wrists high above my head and to the right. The left wrist followed. As he tied each wrist to the bedpost, Jason pulled, tightening the rope and stretching my body taught. The muscles in my arms, shoulders and back felt the pull. I remember thinking, this must be what victims of the rack felt, just before the first horrible turn began pulling their arms out of their sockets.

I shivered with horror at the thought, and turned my attention to what Jason was doing. My body was stretched tight with virtually no room for movement, making me feel as helpless and exposed as I could be. Jason left the room, exiting into the extensive en suite bathroom. I heard him rummaging about and then saw him return.

He sat on the bed between my legs, and then began to work on me. He had something in his hands, but I couldn't see what it was. I did feel it though, as he began gently smearing some sort of oil or cream on my bare pussy flesh.

It felt cool, sort of interesting and nice. At least at first. He smeared and massaged my pussy flesh, and then slipped lower between my legs, spreading my ass cheeks and placing some of the cream there as well. It isn't uncommon for Jason to ass fuck me roughly as a sort of punishment; I thought perhaps this was what he had in mind though giving me lube was out of character.

A few minutes later and the cool sensation was gone, slowly moving to a warm feeling. Jason waited, doing nothing but observing me. Not much later my pussy wasn't cool any more, it was burning hot. I grunted a bit.

"Uahhh... ah... Jason, what is that? God, it is beginning to hurt."

And it was. Flames licked between my legs, the heat scorching my flesh as the burning hot ointment soaked into my flesh. They weren't real flames of course, but they felt like it. Slowly I realized what my master had done.

Capsaicin cream. Sold as a topical pain killer, I was discovering it should actually be called a topical torture punishment cream. God, it hurt.

"Oh, fuck! Jason, please, that stuff is really hurting, it burns!"

"Yes, I suppose it does. Sort of like your dinner tonight." Jason just sat and watched me as I began pulling on the ropes which spread my arms and legs wide.

I struggled. I couldn't help it. My crotch hurt, it burned, and my ass was beginning to hurt as well. The burning sensation was the worst right at my anus. I also realized why he had made me shave-- the irritation of the blade made me more sensitive. It worked.

Straining against the ropes as automatic. The pain needed a response, I couldn't just lay there. My muscles tensed, my hips bucked up as much as they could. I tried to angle myself to wipe off the torture cream on the pillows beneath my ass, but no luck. I pushed, moving back and forth to try and use the pillows to spread my ass cheeks to I could get the pillowcases to wipe my ass. Sort of like a dog scraping their ass on the carpet. I managed to get my ass cheeks spread a little but I had so little wriggle room because of the tight stretch of the ropes, it was impossible to get my anus wiped.

It didn't matter, my clit was throbbing with fire, my labia burning. I stared at the ceiling but saw nothing. A tear trickled out of the corner of one eye and down the side of my head. Moaning and pulled, writhing and jerking, I coped with the pain as best I could.

"You are so damn beautiful in pain," Jason said as he watched me.

I flushed, partly because of the painful burn between my legs, partly from the compliment. I truly did find it arousing and made me happy to realize my pain was giving Jason pleasure.

Leaning over my panting chest, Jason took a little torture pain cream and circled my nipples with it. It felt good as he manipulated my breasts, but I knew it was not going to last long.

"Fuck, Oh, Jason, I am sorry. I will be good. Please... god, please... no..."

My hips were writhing and wriggling up and down, and I shook my breasts as the pain began there, as well.

I have a good body. A sexy one. I keep myself in shape, for him. At times like that one I knew I looked amazing, spread wide and struggling.

Jason pulled out his cock and began stroking it as he watched me. I imagined the pain had begun to subside, but it still hurt so bad. How long had I been there, an hour? More? Fuck, I was so aroused though, the pain combined with being tied tightly was what I needed. Having Jason watch and enjoy my helpless agony turned me on so much. I wanted him to cum, I wanted him to reach climax because of me, my body, my pain.

And he did. His cock was hard and pointed at my face, as he slowly stroked himself, I tried to reach up and take it in my mouth, but he held it just out of reach. So, I watched through the red haze of slowly diminishing pain as he fondled and teased himself.

He semen came spurting out and onto my face. I moaned and actually cried out, "fuck.... Siobhan... you are so gorgeous... "

The white slime spewed across my face from my forehead, across my right eye and down my cheek. Another spurt spread from my hair down my nose to my lips. My eye stung and I closed it, feeling the semen continued to drop onto my face and cover it. Some went up my nose and I snorted, then groaned again as my pussy flared up in pain.

When he was done, Jason wiped a tiny bit of semen from the end of his cock, but left the bulk of it on my face. I was continuing to writhe and pull, tears streaming down from my eyes.

"Please, Jason, it's been long enough. Please wipe that stuff off me, it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad."

"When my cum dries on your face, I will clean you up. Not before." Jason spoke kindly, but firmly. His statement seemed stab me, cutting deep and I sobbed out loud. Snot smeared down my face from my nose, mixing with the sperm.

I felt ugly. I knew my body was good, Jason enjoyed it and intellectually I knew I was extremely sexy. But the situation made me feel ugly, especially with my face covered with tears, semen and snot that I could not wipe away.

I also felt incredibly aroused. Being tied tightly, humiliated and in pain, helpless to help myself, was what I needed, down deep.

The pain was slowly but surely subsiding. It had been well over an hour, and my sobs quieted. The burning sensation lasted for some time, and Jason got himself a drink and sat next to me, gently stroking my bare flesh, playing and touching with all my most sensitive parts. It made me feel truly treasured.

Perhaps three hours after I had been tied up, Jason wiped his finger over my face. His semen had dried and was crusty, except for the points where it had mixed with tears or snot.

Satisfied, Jason went into the bathroom and returned with a makeup cleanup kit which included an oil based makeup remover and soft cotton pads. He wiped my crotch thoroughly, as if I were a baby getting its diaper changed. He cleaned between my butt cheeks, with special attention to my anus. He wiped up the burning residue of torture cream from my nipples.

Finally, he cleaned my face, wiping tears, semen and snot away.

Moments later he had untied me and I had pulled my legs up and curled into a fetal position and cried once again. He lay behind me and spooned my naked body, caressing my skin gently. I felt so loved and cared for, I was so grateful I was his.

Jason is the best.

The pain from the torture cream faded slowly. It lasted several hours, though the peak of pain started diminishing after an hour or so. I was fine by the next morning when I dressed and went to work.