Thursday, June 5, 2014

Center of Attention

I stood as best I could in the center of the room. It wasn't uncomfortable (yet), but it took some effort to balance on the ballet boots.

I swear, it is amazing to me how many different ways humanity comes up with to torture and humiliate women. High heels is one of them, and excessively high heels are just... awful. To think there are some women that learn to walk on their toes for the pleasure of men, and call it art.

These boots were custom fitted and made of a soft, supple leather. I was literally on my toes but the 8 inch heel reinforced the stance, making it OK.  It just took concentration to keep my balance.

My naked body felt quite normal; I spend much of my time at home naked or wearing some sort of minimal clothing designed to show off my body or give my owner and husband Jason pleasure. It makes me feel good to wear something small and revealing. It's sexy, sensual, and it gives me immense satisfaction to see how my body arouses him. It actually makes me feel a little powerful to observe him get hard when he sees me.

Jason was having some friends over. I didn't know who or how many; I figured it was one of our neighbors. The couple next door are also in a D/s relationship (though it is F/m). Across the street is a couple that is curious and we've been open with, even engaged in a little swinging play. I really like Diane and love to play with her.

So I stood in the middle of the living room, as instructed, wearing nothing but the tightly laced ballet boots, waiting. Jason entered with my best armbinder (we have three), the one that is softest inside but laces quite tightly in the back. It is impossible to get off when put on properly. Just seeing it aroused me a little; yes, I admit I am a bondage slut. I have been since I was... well, early teen years. I placed my arms obediently behind my back, palms facing each other. Jason slid the armbinder up, wriggling it into place. The laces were quite loose to get it on, but once on, Jason began pulling them tight from the bottom (near my wrists). The higher he went, the more the flesh of my arms was pressed together until the bones of my elbows touched and pressed.

This wasn't new. I had worn the binder many times before. It gave Jason pleasure for me to be in it. He said I looked sexy in it, and I felt sexy. When tightened all the way my arms and even shoulders were pulled back, stretching the skin of my chest and thrusting my breasts out rather salaciously.

Jason tightened the laces to the top just above my elbows, and then began another round of tightening from the bottom. Once the laces are pulled tight, slack at the bottom appears and needs to be pulled out until the monoglove fits like a second skin.

When he was done, I waited patiently in the middle of the living room, wondering what would come next.

What came next was my panties, which I had removed earlier.

"Open your mouth, dear," Jason ordered. I did as requested and he pushed the soft cloth into my mouth until it was filled. The cotton is uncomfortable; it absorbs the moisture in my mouth, and makes it feel dry. Of course, the stimulation of the gag also makes more saliva and consequently drool, so it is a combination that is not a lot of fun, though not painful. The other thing about pantie gags (or any gag that fills the mouth) is that it does a pretty good job of silencing me. I can make muffled grunts, but there will be no screaming or begging, so wearing a gag like that can be disconcerting. It made me nervous.

Jason wrapped clear packing tape over my lips, around my cheek and the back of my head and kept going. After several circles around my head and face, the pantie gag was secured in place and I no longer had the ability to talk or make noise.

The ballet bondage boots also served to hobble me rather nicely; I can't run and frankly, can't even walk much at all in those things. So, between the boots, the armbinder and the gag, I was pretty much immobile and waiting my master's command.

The next item was a simple hood. This upset me as well. I've worn it before and it is miserable. Made of a relatively tight fitting heavy cloth, it slips over the top of my head and is tied around my neck. It can be laced tight so the material conforms to the shape of my head.  Problem is, there are no holes in the hood except for two very small ones just over my nostrils. It effectively blinds me and muffles my hearing. Breathing is OK though not great, but otherwise I am isolated in my own world of darkness.

I whimpered slightly as the hood descended over my face and I saw light for the last time in a while. The strap at the bottom was tightened around my throat, not choking me but tight enough the hood would not come off. The laces in the back pulled and the cloth squeezed against my face like a second skin.

My world had collapsed into a dark, muffled place where I could not see, hear or move. I was vulnerable, exposed, and with the addition of the gag I felt even more helpless. I think I might have whimpered a bit more. With my senses restricted like that, I felt even more naked than ever.

Jason's hand stroked the bare flesh of my lower back, traveling down across my ass.

The last touch of my bondage arrived. A pull on the hood announced that a rope or some other restraint had been fastened to the ring that was secured as part of the hood at the top of my head. It yanked upward slightly putting pressure on my neck and chin. I was now forced to stand straight up, unable to walk away even if the ballet boots had allowed it.

Silence. Emptiness. I stood, knowing I was in the living room of my own house, but unable to move. My feet hurt, my upper arms and shoulders ached slightly. I breathed slowly, forcing myself to stay calm.  I have no idea how long it was that I stood there waiting; perhaps 15 minutes. Maybe a half hour. Not more than an hour. It felt like an eternity, simply standing on my toes, naked, waiting.

In the distance I heard the doorbell ring. The door opened and there were voices. Jason's, and another man's. A guest had arrived. Inside my dark prison I panicked. I was naked, restrained in a forced standing position in my living room, and a guest had arrived that I could not see or hear. My breathing became more rapid. I tried to listen for clues. Who was there?

As Jason came into the living room I heard the other man's voice more clearly. It was Steve, the neighbor from across the street. I calmed a little. Steve had played with us before, I had been naked in his presence before. Jason and Steve talked for a while then the doorbell rang again.

Another guest. The man's voice was not familiar. Jason now had two guests over, both standing in the living room, probably surveying my naked and tied body. There was absolutely nothing I could do about it. The muscles of my shoulders and back writhed a bit in an instinctual attempt to get free, something I knew intellectually was useless. I was bound tightly enough I could hardly move except to shuffle my feet and slide my hips around a bit. Finally, I simply stood, though I think I was breathing hard.

Breathing hard means my chest and breasts were moving up and down. I became aware of my body and how it must look to the three men in the room. My leg muscles were tight and drawn because of the ballet bondage boots. My breasts jutted out obscenely because of the armbinder. My stomach was stretched and concave because of how the hood drew me toward the ceiling. My breast were heaving up and down.

The doorbell rang yet again.  A third guest. It was another voice I didn't recognize, another of Jason's male friends. He was having a gathering of his friends, and I was the centerpiece, the decoration. Tears welled up in my eyes and did their best to trickle down my cheeks between my skin and the hood's material. There was nothing to do but endure.

After the last guest arrived there were a total of six men in the living room. I stood still except for the occasional shift of my feet to maintain my balance.

The TV went on. It was the football game. The men were probably drinking beer and watching football as I stood naked and on display for them.  How long would I be like this? It had probably been an hour.... how long is a football game?  Two hours? Three? I didn't know if I would be able to make it. Not that I had a choice.

The game went on as I stood in darkness. Once, the men let out a loud shout, a whoooop of joy. Their team had scored. My legs hurt, aching from the strain of standing in the bondage boots. During the first hour I flushed periodically; I could feel my skin burn red as the humiliation of my situation overwhelmed me. But I was helpless. I did the only thing I could, stand there and wait.  And endure.

My armbinder is comfortable in that the leather is soft and there are no irritating seams or ridges that will dig into my flesh over time. It still clamps my arms behind my back as it is designed to do, and that can grow quite tiring after a while. By halftime my shoulders cramped.

Halftime brought new humiliation. My naked body was touched. I knew Jason's touch; his hands and fingers are familiar to me as if they are my own. Other hands touched me, at first stroking my bare stomach and back. Multiple hands. I knew there were six men in the room, so there were a maximum of 12 hands that could be fondling my naked body. At one point it felt like all 12 hands were touching me in some way.

My nipples were pinched and breasts cupped and raised from behind. I flushed because the pinching aroused me, my nipples growing hard. It was humiliating to let these strangers know what a bondage slut I was, but there was no choice. I guess that was the point.

Hands groped across my back, over my shoulders and around my neck. Lips attached themselves to my nipples and sucked. Two men, one on each breast, suckled my erect nipples while others gently felt between my legs. My upper thighs were explore, my ass was cupped and spread wide.

Tears streamed down my face inside the hood. Strangers were groping me, exploring my body. Most horribly, my body was reacting to them, I could feel myself becoming wet and aroused. I hope that no one would touch me there...  and then someone did. No penetration, but someone slid their hand over my pussy lips. Yes, there was no disguising it now. They knew I was wet.

During this whole experience not one person actually penetrated my body. Yes, they felt every exposed surface, touching my legs, thighs, ass, stomach, breasts, neck, shoulders, back, and even the outside of my pussy. But not one finger slipped inside. I knew Jason was there watching and had given strict instructions I was not to be violated in that way.

Halftime was over and the guys went back to the game. It was a relief, though I was left alone to suffer, standing in the room with my legs and shoulders aching. I tried sinking down, putting more of my weight on the hood and the ring that held me upright. That resulted in the strap pressing harder on my neck and choking me, so I stood up again.

The classic predicament torture. Stand, and my leg muscles burned from the strain. Sink down and my neck would be compressed and choked. One way or another I was fucked. It reminded me of riding the wooden pony, where I could rock forward, and endure the pain on my mons pubis and pelvis, or rock backward and endure pain on my vagina and ass or even tailbone. Back and forth.

Thus I rocked up and down slowly, hanging by my neck until I needed to breathe then standing once again, remaining their until my legs burned enough and I could sink down once again and let my neck support my weight.

Finally the game was over. I could hear the guys chattering with Jason, presumably telling him how much they had enjoyed the game and the halftime entertainment. I stood, knowing they were giving me final, longing glances. I was probably the best female body they had ever touched, and perhaps ever would touch. The thought didn't really help much. I mentally begged for them to leave.

When the door closed the last time and Jason undid the rope that held me suspended, I collapsed to the floor. He removed the hood and then the tape that held my gag in place. The panties were removed and I gasped for air, breathing deep lung fulls. My face was a mess, of course, from the tears and compression of the cloth hood. He undid the ballet boots next, and finally the armbinder.

My body arms and legs didn't work right for several hours after the ordeal, which was OK. Jason took me on the floor just then, rolling me onto my back and fucking me hard the way he does when I have pleased him with my suffering. I lay on my back, legs spread, and let him come inside me, twice, before he helped me upstairs to bed.

I was happy to have served him well and pleased him so much.


  1. Women should not be slaves, only men.

    1. that is your opinion there are many people out there who do not share your opinion so stop trying to force yours onto others.

  2. Fantastic :) i really enjoy your Blog!!

  3. So you have a demanding job as you had mentioned. When you get home you have to prepare for dinner and do chores. Also you sometimes have to suffer for your husband for hours. Seems to me you're literally a slave and he doesn't do anything other than torturing you. What an amazing life he leads.

  4. This is an unsafe scene. You had no way to communicate genuine distress.