Throughout the training, I think I have come to feel the sensation of a full bladder as being erotic. It's associated with being bound, dominated, and fucked. The other day I had a full bladder at work and was about to head home; I skipped the restroom and kept the full bladder on the drive home and for a little while at home, before releasing it.
Jason is continuing the bladder control training by imposing restricted bathroom privilege periodically and without announcement.
For example, at seven in the morning, I was getting out of bed. "Siobhan, no toilet privilege for the next four hours."
"What? Jason, you could have warned me, I haven't peed yet!"
"That's the point, Siobhan, you have to learn to deal with body control and restrictions at any time, in any condition. You belong to me and I have the ultimate control over your body functions. No toilet for four hours."
"Yes, sir," I grumbled, getting dressed. I was already in discomfort and that spread to pain as the hours went on. But as the discomfort increased, so did my arousal. I was actually wet after a couple of hours and wanted to masturbate.
Of course, masturbation is also something that is under Jason's control, and I had to ask permission.
"You have permission to masturbate Siobhan, as long as you do it before me."
That isn't a punishment; I enjoy dropping my jeans, spreading my legs and letting my husband and owner observe me pleasuring myself. He enjoys it as well.
The more I do this, the more I associate sexual arousal with a full bladder. Or rather... I associate a full bladder with sexual arousal. After the initial training I ended up masturbating when I got aroused from the discomfort, and now I can't feel the need to pee without also wanted to rub myself to orgasm.
So yeah... that's weird but also very real. I get a full bladder, and I get horny.
Sometimes Jason's bladder control training has not been 100% successful. I do my best but there are times when I get distracted, or just can't hold it completely.
When it happens it really is humiliating. It's like a flood pouring down the cloth of my pants, the warmth spreading suddenly.
This usually happens at home, thank goodness. Jason's random training periods tend to be at home but there are times when he hits me with the toilet restriction during the day when I have to go out, or am already out.
The result was that once I lost control in public.
The suddenly, the warmth floods my crotch and down my legs.
When it happened in public we were walking between two stores in an open mall. I felt it beginning and suddenly begged Jason to slip into a little alley way between stores. The process of wetting myself completed there, though I had to walk through the mall with wet pants (and strange, humiliating looks) to get back to the car and home to change.
Yes, it feels great. I have to admit that I am usually in pain when I make this kind of slip and the feeling of relief is tremendous.
Of course, I am punished for such slips.
Jason has been using the wooden pony for such punishments. I have to say, I don't like the wooden pony at all. It hurts, especially as time goes on.
Sitting on the wooden pony is designed to start out uncomfortably, and then slowly become more painful and horrible as time goes on. It's a long term sort of experience, and one that creates a specific set of behaviors in any victim riding the pony.
The pressure of my body will press my crotch onto the wooden beam, which can either be flat or angled. Angled (pointed) hurts more right away because the point digs into my cunt, but flat (like a 2x4) slowly catches up and before long my cunt is aching just as much.
Once it really begins to hurt my body seeks a better position to relieve the discomfort. I know this is part of the process, part of the humiliation I experience and what Jason enjoys seeing. I can't help it. I rock or lean forward to put the pressure on a different part of my cunt. Usually I lean back which puts the pressure on my ass.
Depending on how I am tied, this might not last long, and my ass begins hurting quickly anyway and I rock the other way, leaning forward. My weight ends up pressing on my clit and pelvis... that usually doesn't last long, I can't stand it, so I rock back.
Once the pain starts to get really bad I also begin to rock to the side, but usually there are bondage limitations as to how far I can take that. I usually have a noose around my neck or my ankles are tied up to the horse or spread out, making side to side rocking difficult. Still, I do it. I have to. My body is desperately demanding that I find a way to relieve the pain.
It's the slow wriggling of the wooden pony victim trying to displace their weight that is the classic "riding" behavior.
It's the frustrating, ongoing, relentless pain that just slowly gets worse and worse over hours... that's what gets me about riding the pony. Sometimes I am left alone to ride, and I think that is worse. At least if Jason is there watching me wriggle and cry, someone is enjoying it and getting a benefit from it. But if I am alone... I feel soooo alone. Lost. Just in pain by myself. Jason's presence with me is a comfort even if he is the one doing it to me.
Well, Jason has worked out a way to add just a bit of nastiness and discomfort to the process.
Often I can shift my body a bit to get the labia positioned properly-- my slit directly over the wooden ridge. Except that actually feels awful. Very soon after achieving that I want to get the wood ridge out of my vagina and shift my weight to try and get it on one or both labia lips. That's pretty painful itself over time, but at least these tiny shifts in weight can help me endure for a longer time.
I find it amazing how expert I have come on small movements and how they can make the torture just a little easier to bear. Something most women would not even imagine.
Well, Jason's little evil variation-- he found some small clamps (that are really quite tight and hurt going on) and places them on my vaginal lips.
He's experimenting with what is worse-- clamping my labia or my inner vaginal lips. I won't tell him but I think it is worse on my labia, but that could change based on future experience.
So these clamps also have small loops through which a string, twine, or rubber band can be threaded. Once threaded, the string is wrapped around my upper thigh. This pulled the clamp wide, making sure my pussy is held open for the edge of the pony to drive into my vagina as far as possible.
This makes it impossible for me to shift my weight to move to a different area of my cunt.
The whole point is the longer the pony smashes and drives into a single area of my flesh, the faster and more that area of flesh hurts.
Shifting around, moving around the pony doesn't help as much, because my lips are held in place, spread out. The wood actually drives up into my vaginal slightly. The horse is raping me.
All this happened last time I lost bladder control. Jason brought me home and cleaned me up, but that evening announced a three hour session on the pony.
"Three hours! That's... I can't do three hours!"
"Of course you can, Siobhan. You've done three hours several times." He's right of course. One hour hurts but I can do it, two hours is agony and I will go way out of my way to avoid that kind of punishment. Three hours is torture and has me sobbing, begging and willing to do just about anything to be released. And I mean anything. But I've done it.
"Please, Jason. How about if we mix it. A flogging? How about one hour and a flogging. While I am on the horse. OK?"
Jason smiled. He knew I hated the pony, and unfortunately, he loves it. "How about three hours with a flogging? Take your mind off your cunt?"
I almost said yes, but decided I was not going to risk it. Sometimes extra pain somewhere else actually does take your mind off a constant painful ongoing relentless torture. But no, I was not going to risk it. So three hours it was.
This was the first time he had applied his little labia spreading trick though. I was naive and didn't think much of it until I had been on the pony for about an hour and realized that my inner vaginal wall was getting really sore from my rocking back and forth, rubbing it.
"Fuck.... fuckfuckfuckfuck... that hurts... Jason... that hurts..." I was talking, expressing my pain. I can't help it. It gets Jason off, actually. He was there with his cock out of his pants watching me suffer.
"Bad language, Siobhan." Jason went inside (the wooden pony is in our garage, another nasty aspect of the experience because it gets cold there, or hot during the summer). He came back with a bit gag and put it on me. The bit gag doesn't stop anyone from talking, and certainly doesn't keep one quiet. It is basically just a humiliation technique. And it makes me drool, a lot. I think Jason likes to see my chest and breasts covered with saliva.
After all, I am riding the pony and have a bit gag in my mouth. Irony, sarcasm? Something like that.
Well, I had been rocking back a lot to put the weight on my anus, which is probably the least painful position on the pony. Jason caught this and decided to do something about it.
He has some nipple clamps that are really tight, stiff buggers. They hurt like demons going on, smash my nipples down to the width of paper, bruising them. They don't come off by pulling unless I pull really, really hard and then I scream for about five minutes as the blood flows back and the nerves in my nipples come alive. Better to leave the clamps on and let the nipples just go numb.
Jason put the clamps on me and tied them to the front of the pony. This effectively prevented me from shifting my weight very far back. I was stuck, sitting on my cunt, labia spread, pointed wooden pony rammed up my vagina.
Yes, I cried. I don't know how far in it was, one hour, or two? But I lost the ability to endure and began to cry, tears streaming down my face. The drool splattered out of my mouth as I sobbed, spraying on my breasts and stomach. I struggled and pulled. I was willing to pull off the clamps if I could and it would help relieve the pain in my cunt.
The clamps wouldn't come off though. And my cunt wouldn't stop hurting.
I begged Jason. Yes, the bit gag made it a bit garbled, but it wasn't that hard to talk. I told him I would do anything. I would eat his shit. I would eat dirt. I would go without peeing for 24 hours. I would run through downtown naked.
After a while I just sat and sobbed.
And then it was over. Not without a bit of screaming, though. The clamps were yanked off first and the neighbors really must have heard me scream at that. It took me a bit to stop the yelling.
He then unfastened my ankle restraints and let me put some weight on my feet. Blood started flowing back into my poor bruised cunt... and I screamed again and then cried.
He undid my wrist restraints, and then helped me off the pony.
My last scream was when he undid the clamps that help my labia wide.
All in all... I loved it. I hated it. I loved to hate it. I am one sick puppy, what can I say?
I think... down deep... he is eventually going to figure out he can nail my labia to the horse. I dread the day he thinks of it and decides to give it a try.