Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Arm Bondage

I love Jason because he loves me.

I love Jason because he ties me up.

I love Jason when it gets so tight I can't move and my body is helpless, vulnerable, and I am completely exposed and at his whim.

I love Jason because he knows how to restrain me in ways that make me beg to be set free.

I love Jason because he knows how to turn me into jelly by making sure I can't escape and then touching me in just the right way to make me beg for release-- not to be set free but to release the orgasm that wells up deep within me.

I've had a love affair with bondage since before I was twelve years old, and now my love affair has the ultimate fulfillment-- my man, my partner, my lover, my master.

Jason hurts me sometimes, making my entire world come into a sharp focus, every sensation more intense, more exciting, more overwhelming. He gets me out of my brain and into subspace where I can think of nothing but how to endure, how to please him so he will be kind, how to pleasure him so he will be cruel.

Remember that pain is your body telling you something is wrong-- that you are being injured. It's your body's way of urging you to run for the hills.

Which is why pain in bondage is so important, for me at least. I love bondage because I feel helpless in it. Vulnerable. At someone else's whim.

If my body is telling me I need to run for the hills, that I am hurting-- and I can't move... it makes the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability much more intense. It makes everything more intense.

It's a balancing act. Pain is a warning that you are being injured. It can occur when there is only the potential for being injured, and real injury has not happened as yet.

Then again pain can happen when tendons are tearing, muscles are being pulled, flesh is being punctured and torn, bones are breaking, and so on. The key to using pain in bondage is to invoke pain without the injury. This takes skill and attention. A lot of it.

I love Jason because he has this skill, and pays attention.

Strappado is painful. Well, heck, it was designed to be painful. It was invented as a quick and easy method of torture back ... well, most people think of it as being from the middle ages, the Spanish Inquisition, or whatever. But like most easy and effective method of torture, it has been around since people have wanted to hurt other people.

Yes, I've been in strappado. It its easiest, it is uncomfortable. At its worst it is excruciating.

Understanding strappado is important. Its design was to use the victim's weight against herself. By hanging a victim by their arms behind them, it forces the arms and shoulders into places the shoulders and muscles weren't designed to go. Thus, pain.

The pain is a warning that your muscles are being torn from the bone, that your rotator cuff is about to be ripped in half, that your bones may break, that your arm may be pried from its socket at any moment.

I was in strappado the first time when I was about 20. My boyfriend at the time didn't even know what it was or planned it, he just had tied my wrists behind my back as well as binding my legs to practice tying me up. I mean... believe it or not, getting tied up in different ways was one of my favorite ideas for a fun Saturday afternoon.

I don't know why he got the idea, but he attached my wrist tie to another rope that went up and through a hook in the ceiling used for a hanging plant, and pulled.

Up went my wrists behind me, and of course I bent over. Bending over keeps the angle of the shoulders from being too severe. If the arms go straight up behind you, chances are you are going to do some serious injury and will be in a lot of pain.

I gasped, the whole thing rather unexpected. My ankles were tied so I couldn't walk away, plus when your arms are stretched behind you, you can't walk away anyway.

My boyfriend was like, "wow, that's incredibly sexy, Siobhan... I love you in that position!"

I was gagged, but most gags don't actually keep you from talking so I swore at him and told him he might love the position but it hurt. I told him to go fuck himself. He responded by pulling on the rope and raising my wrists another foot or so, which made me gasp and cry, and I shut up.

He left me in that position about a half hour, which was about all I could take at that time. I gave him a blow job to thank him when he finally let me down.

Bent over like that I was prime for a fucking from behind, but had my clothes on. (A lot of my bondage early in life was done while clothed.)

I am pretty flexible, and Jason has been emphasizing keeping me in shape and improving my flexibility. I can do the splits with no discomfort, and my elbows can be strapped behind my back with no problem.

Strapping the elbows behind the back, touching, is extremely debilitating and feels awesome. As in, impossible to get out of and it can make one feel completely helpless. Jason actually enjoys strapping my elbows together and then telling me to go about my business, working in the kitchen or whatever.

With elbows strapped but hands free you can still do work, but it is difficult. Every motion, every task reminds you that you are bound and restricted.

Of course, if in complete strict bondage, having the elbows tied also enhances the feeling of complete submission and helplessness.

OK, back to strappado. This technique is dangerous, but it is adjustable. The more severe the strappado, the greater pain (and greater risk of injury).

For most people, lifting their wrists even a little when tied behind the back will cause discomfort. I've trained my arms in flexibility over the years, and for me the discomfort really sets in about the point my arms are straight out behind me, perpendicular to my back. I've seen women sobbing with pain at that height.

For me, it's enough to drive me forward. Strappado does that, the higher the wrists go the more the victim (me, in this case) moves and bends forward. This essentially reduces the angle.

It's one reason Jason loves this position and strappado. It forces me over, bent forward. Add a leg spreader and it's a perfect way to take me from behind, and there's little I can do about it.

If the wrists keep getting pulled higher I keep bending forward, but at some point the body can't bend forward and the pulling rope instead works to raise my body. This is the point where things get serious. The angle of my arms goes past 90 degrees and the shoulders really cramp and hurt.

The pain runs from my elbows through my forearms, is worst at my shoulders but also spreads over my upper back in the form of cramps, especially if I am left in that position for long.

Strapping the elbows together is a cruel addition to the strappado. It means the strain on the shoulders is more severe, as the arms are bent slightly back in addition to being rotated upward.

I'm usually positioned over a mat or cloth on the floor, as I have been known to lose bladder control and pee myself accidentally from the strain and pain.

As with many forms of bondage and torture, I have love/hate emotions about strappado. It's incredibly intense, and can hurt a lot. I suppose if it was used the way it was used for true torture, dangling with weights on my ankles, I would pass out or something. I can't imagine the pain of having my arms literally ripped out of their sockets, which is what would happen.

Fortunately, Jason knows how to put the strain on my body without doing permanent damage.

There are variations on strappado, one of the most common being to restrain my legs in a kneeling position. Jason will take a rope around my waist, threaded through my crotch and then tied around my knees, keeping me kneeling. It isn't possible to lean forward as much when kneeling like this, especially in this configuration because my ankles are tied up near my waist and I end up resting on my knees.

Losing my balance, tipping over forward or back or worse, to the side, can result in my full weight being placed on my arms, which is agonizing. The risk of this happening keeps me very still.

I love being naked when bound. When I was younger, because I didn't always trust the people that were tying me up, I was frequently bound while clothed. But ultimately being naked while bound enhances the feeling of helplessness and fear.

The worst strappado I was ever in wasn't with Jason. Jason has finesse, style, he employs variety, and I trust him to use me sexually during our bondage sessions. Well, duh. He owns me, and can use me sexually any time he wants. No, the worst time was with a guy named Keith. We had played tie up games a few times, and he had proven himself very adapt. I was about... 18 at the time and he was 21 or 22.

I was wearing some nice clothes, something I felt sexy in, and stylish. I thought it would enhance the experience of being tied up. Heels and everything. Keith had never seen me naked (and never would), but he did get very aroused by our sessions, and would sometimes masturbate in front of me while I was tied up. That was a bit humiliating, though frankly, I enjoyed being helpless and humiliated. So I didn't mind.

Well, we were at my parent's house (I was still living there actually, and in high school I think), and arranged for Keith to come over while they were out up at some museum in LA. He brought an extra set of ropes and was tying me up almost as soon as he was in the door.

The first tie he did was a lame one with my wrists tied to my ankles. You have to realize that to do some of these ties can take a long time; it can take 15, 20 minutes just to get me tied up. Once tied up he didn't want to let me out, but I was talking to him and telling him how stupid the tie was and he finally got mad and said, fine. Let's do another one then.

Well, he did my elbows behind my back, something I had only done once before, and then brought the rope down to my wrists. The rope was wrapped around my arms 5, 10 times in each place-- it was a serious tie. I could feel just how secure and helpless I was.

He then taped my mouth shut, telling me I needed to learn to keep my mouth shut. This was after my arms were bound and there was nothing I could do about it.

And then he tied a rope through the wrists and up over a beam in my parents living room and pulled. Whoa... I quickly walked backward to the place where the rope went up in order to relieve the tension, and stopped.

He kept pulling and my shoulders kept twisting and I bent over and was making grunting noises through the tape, and was really feeling his revenge for my insulting him earlier.

Keith stood in front of me when I was there, unable to move much and pulled his dick out. He wasn't allowed to touch under my clothes or remove clothes, that was part of the deal, but he could sit and jerk off while watching my helpless tied up self all he wanted.

As he was stroking himself he pulled harder, until my arms were almost straight up vertical. I mean, I was bent over a bit, but mostly I was standing with my arms pulled all the way up and I literally thought they were slowly working their way out of my shoulder sockets.

My eyes must have been bulging out and my muffled screams under the tape gag were warning him I was in distress, but he had to finish jerking off. It took him a minute, and when he finally came his semen spurted several feet and got all over my dress and blouse.

Well, he let me down after that, I sank right to the ground and lay down, and untied my arms. I must have sworn up and down a blue streak when he finally untaped my mouth, and told him he had gone too far.

"Oh, but you have no idea how beautiful you looked," he said.

I also had to clean my best blouse. Asshole.

The newest arm bondage tie Jason has used on me is a variation on the strappado. He ties my elbows and wrists together behind my back. Then, he ties the wrists to rope around my chest, either at my breasts or just above them. This raises my elbows by itself, because my wrists are secured to a higher location on my body.

It is rather like being in strappado, but mobile. I can walk around, though it is a very uncomfortable position and I don't feel much like moving.

Of course, not content with this rather tight and uncomfortable position, Jason will tied my elbow ropes to a suspension rope and lift.

The interesting part is he can lift the rope as much as he likes and it doesn't make the strappado worse, because it also pulls on the arms that are secured to my chest. The result is he can actually lift me off the ground, feet swinging in the air.

That isn't to say it isn't painful. It is. It hurts. But I can take it for a while, long enough for him to play between my legs in whatever way he wishes, as I hang helpless, gently swinging and whimpering before him.

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Refinements on the Wooden Pony Experience

A very strange thing has happened. The other day I was walking in from the parking lot at lunch time, into work, and I felt the need to pee. But I also felt inexplicably aroused and sensual. Bladder control and the feelings of discomfort from having a painfully full bladder have become arousing to me.

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.

So what happens is a couple of times I have begun to leak. Now, the thing about leaking when you have a painfully distended bladder-- once it starts it is ten times harder to stop. Typically, by the time I have noticed I am letting some urine go, it's hurting so bad I can't stop it and it just... all goes.

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.

Like I say, it happens without warning. I don't know I am about to pee, to lose control. Just... one moment I am in pain, trying to go about my business without leaking and wondering whether I can find a private place to masturbate to burn off some of the arousal that comes with a full bladder.

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.

Normally when I ride the pony I am naked, of course, and my cunt is squashed right up against the wooden point of the horse. Jason sometimes adds little items like clamps to my nipples or binding my arms in a reverse prayer to make things a little worse. But most of the discomfort comes from my labia being smashed on the wood.

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.

Friday, February 24, 2017

Bladder Training

You've probably read about the incident with my lack of bladder control and roadside urination in Arizona from the earlier post. It was most certainly humiliating to be forced to urinate along the roadside, in public with cars whizzing by.

The subsequent enema punishment a week later was also painful and I failed at it, allowing some leakage before being allowed to go to the toilet. Jason promised additional training for body control and submission as a result.

I haven't written about it yet, but Jason did follow through on that promise (or threat, depending on how you look at it).

The first sessions involved bladder control. They occurred over two rather painful and embarrassing weekends.

Saturday morning and we were at breakfast. I had fixed a nice one of scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice. Later, I planned to do some grocery shopping and meet with a couple of neighbors for lunch.

Jason informed me I was mistaken. "No, Siobhan, this weekend we are going to be doing some bladder control training."

My eyes got big and I said nothing. I was imagining the possibilities, mostly painful.

"Get undressed, and meet me in the playroom." The playroom is our third bedroom, and has been specially equipped with various devices used during sex, discipline, domination and... well... torture. Yes, I have to admit I am tortured. It is my pleasure to be tortured by and for Jason.

I went into the playroom, shaking a little in anticipation. I pulled my top off over my head, and unhooked my bra. Both pieces were folded neatly on a shelf designated for this purpose. I was wearing casual jeans, which I removed; typically I am barefoot at home, I am not allowed to wear shoes inside. Last came my panties, which I folded with the pants on the shelf, and I was completely naked. For the next several hours, I would not need to be clothed.

"Lay down on the table on your back and spread your legs," Jason said calmly.

I did as instructed. I had no idea what was coming, but I knew it wasn't going to be pleasant. I spread my legs, exposing my genitals for him, and waited.

Jason first used some soap to sterilize my cunt. I had recently shaved and he was using an antiseptic soap that stung a little. I moaned at the irritation but it quickly passed. He washed and disinfected his own hands.

Then came the speculum. It's a smooth, high quality stainless one from a medical supply. I've had it inserted many times before. It's a little uncomfortable, especially when cold, but not bad. I felt it slide in and then expand, spreading my flesh and stretching it slightly. I always feel like that speculum is designed to drive home how no part of my body is off limits. It exposes my body more than just being naked. I am forced open in unnatural ways for examination and... manipulation.

He then produced some tubing that ended in a catheterized tip. Oh. I now began to understand what he might be doing.

A tiny bit of lube on the tip and he massaged my cunt flesh, spreading and poking around to expose my urethra. I could feel the lubed end of the catheter probing around and then find the entrance to my urethra. Jason pushed gently.

I gasped. It wasn't going in easily, and it took all my will power to keep my legs spread for him and not reach my hands down defensively. He continued to push and suddenly it went in. I yelped, "Ahhh!" and then it was over. Or at least that part. The tube was in, and the first hurdle done.

Jason could see I was having trouble. Moaning and wriggling a bit, I had managed to allow the catheter all the way in, but whatever was coming next wasn't going to be pleasant. I looked at him with pleading eyes.

"Would it help if you were restrained for the next part?" He asked kindly.

I nodded my head. Things are always easier for me when I am tied up, the tighter the better. I needed to be bound. He knew this. I can take a lot, but I need to be helpless. Nothing turns me on more than having my body abused when I am unable to respond or even move.

He used the medical restraints. Nicely padded cuffs that buckled tight and spread my legs out. I was able to wriggle about quite a bit, but my wrists and ankles were secured at the side of the table, exposing my body and keeping me from attempting to cover myself or remove the catheter.

Jason also kindly inserted a dental gag, spreading my jaw open. There wasn't anything necessary about this, but the feeling of having one's jaw forced and held open adds to the feeling of helplessness and invasion. And believe me, I was being invaded.

The catheter had a clamp on it to keep any liquid from coming out. I did not need to go to the restroom before he had told me to submit to him in the playroom, but when he unclamped the tube there was a sudden flow of urine that went into a pot positioned just below my butt on the table.

"We need to start with an empty bladder so I know exactly how much liquid is inside you at any time. I want to be precise," he said. It was meant to reassure but it didn't. I was nervous and a bit scared about what he was doing to me, but I was tied down now and had no choice. Whatever he did, it was going to happen whether I liked it or not.

I hadn't really questioned anything until now. It isn't my place to question what Jason does to me or my body. I've learned and gotten quite good at simply obeying.

But at this point I was shaking I was so nervous. My mouth was held wide open by my mouth spreader which made it impossible to talk, but I made some noises with my tongue. "Anngnggg ngnng eng enn engggggeeeaaaa?"

Jason understood reasonably well.

"I am going to fill your bladder and we are going to practice having you hold it. We'll do this a little each day, increasing the amount that you can hold, and how long you can hold it. It will be unpleasant, but I will enjoy the process and that's what counts."

I turned my head away to keep him from seeing a single tear that trickled down my cheek and simply nodded my head. I understood.

And so what Jason termed my bladder control training (and I refer to as my bladder torture) began.

He injected the water into my bladder. The syringe didn't hold a huge amount, so once he had injected it all I simply felt like maybe I had to pee but the sensation of the catheter was much stronger so that the whole feeling of fullness wasn't significant at all.

"That was 200 milliliters. Just a start." Jason refilled the syringe and once again pushed the plunger and I could feel the cold water flooding and expanding my bladder. I wriggled a little in my restraints as I felt suddenly much more full, the sensation of needing to pee coming on. It wasn't painful. I just needed to go.

"400 ml. That's a full bladder, but at the low end."

It didn't feel like the low end. If my bladder felt this way on the road, I would have asked we pull over at the next stop.

"Let's just hold that for a while, shall we?" Jason said.

"aaaahhhhh????" I said with pleading eyes. I needed to pee.

"Yep. We will start this at half an hour. You can do that." Jason was brimming with confidence about my ability to withstand discomfort.

"Aaaaggghhhh...." I said, accepting his demand unhappily.

Jason left the room, leaving me alone, strapped down to the table. That was cruel. Had he stayed around, he could have distracted me from the discomfort in my abdomen. But no.... he left.

After 15 minutes I would gladly have had him flog me, just to distract from the nagging feeling of needing to pee.

I would peed, too, even if it had been all over the torture table in the play room, dribbled all over onto the floor and everything. It's amazing how one's mind can think of nothing else when your bladder is full. Just needing to empty it. But... the catheter was clamped shut, I was restrained, and there was no pee for me.

Jason returned and I immediately begged for relief. "Aaaaeeeghhhg ehehehhhhggg!!!!"

"I see," he said kindly. "Well, let's unclamp you."

With that he unclamped the catheter and the water immediately began to run out, fast. I couldn't have stopped it if I had tried because the tube ran all the way to my bladder.

My bladder, the ability to retain or expel urine, was entirely at Jason's whim.

When all the water was gone, I let out a sigh of relief. "Ahhhhh....."

"OK, some recovery time before we start again?"

My eyes got wide. "Aaaahhhh????!?!!!" He was going to do some more????

He waited for a few minutes and then injected me again. More fluid into my bladder.

"Ohhh... uuuccckkkkk uucccccckkkkk!!!!" I cried out from my forced-open mouth. Two syringe fulls and I was back at 400 ml. It seemed more painful this time. But of course, he couldn't stop there. Another syringe.

Strappado
"Aaaahahgggh  oaahhhhh!!! Uuuuckccckkkk Uckkkkkk!!!" I cried out as my bladder extended more and more, taking the water that was forced into it. This couldn't be healthy, I knew it. This was more than my bladder was supposed to hold. And that was true because it hurt. Before, I just felt like I really needed to pee. This time I was hurting. Actual pain. Not bad, not like some of the muscle cramps I've had in strappado, or when I did the cunt rope walk... but it was painful.

"600 ml. That's a good full bladder. It should be quite uncomfortable now."

I nodded frantically. "uh huh uh huh..."

"Eeeeeeese...   eeease?" I was begging now to be released. The clamp shut off my catheter and I was filled.

"Be back in half an hour!"

"ooohhhhh!!!!!!" I cried.

"What, you want something to distract you?"

I knew what that meant, but frankly... I was willing to accept it. "Eessssss".

Nipple clamps.

Painfully tight ones, with twine rising up and tied from a hook above me so my nipples and breasts were pulled away from me. Yeah, they hurt. It was a different kind of pain though. Just... regular pain. Not the kind of urgent pain where my body was telling me I could do something about my bladder. My body could not understand why I didn't just release it. Why didn't it just flow out?

I lay there, nipples dragged out, bladder full, all by myself, in agony.

I shouldn't call it agony. I've been in agony when I had a pulled and torn ligament from a bad bondage session. I've been in agony from hanging in strappado just a little bit too long. I've been stapled. I've had my ass beaten until it bled. I've dangled from the ceiling by my ankles while my nipples received random shocks. Those hurt a lot worse.

Still, there is something very special about bladder demands and the cramps that set in when they aren't met.

I'd been in the playroom for two hours when he started the fourth session. 900 ml. Oh god, my bladder was so full. He wanted to get me to a full liter of water, but I was sobbing, tears running down my cheeks after holding 900 ml for an hour.

Yes, an hour. I was tied down and unable to pee for an hour. My life had narrowed to my lower abdomen. I forgot everything else. My job, my home, friends... all gone. All I could think about was the pain just above my cunt.

My bladder was so full I could see it. I raised my head and looked at my abdomen and could see the hard distention of my urine sack, low down in my abdomen. It didn't look like that much. But it was so clear, the bump under the flesh like a huge malignant tumor. That was it. My bladder, filled to bursting.

I wondered if it could actually burst. I didn't think so, but I was beginning to think it might.

After an hour of serious pain, writhing against my bonds, crying and begging, raising my hips up and moving from side to side, after an endless hour, he released the clamp.

The full 900 ml came gushing out.

It was strange. The sense of relief when I was finally able to pee was tremendous. Huge. It felt so damn good I almost didn't mind being filled. Almost. Not quite.

Finally he removed the catheter, slowly pulling it out of my urethra. That felt fantastic as well. God, it felt good. The nipple clamps had come off some time before, so when the speculum was removed I was all done.

Jason removed the restraints, I sat up on the table and panted. He put his arm around me, kissed me, and told me how proud he was of me. That made me glow and I looked up at him and grinned.

"I can take a lot, can't I?"

"Yes, my little Siobhan, you are a real trooper. I am proud of you."

So that was Saturday. The training continued on Sunday after had a wonderful romantic night out the evening before. Honestly, Jason can be so romantic. I love him so much.

Anyway, Sunday came and at 10:00am the second training session continued. I continued to be tied down because, well, I wanted it. I not only love being tied, but it took away my ability to fight the training, which I was sure I would do. I would not be capable of just laying there and doing nothing while my bladder was in agony.

We varied the amount that I took alternating between low volumes of liquid held for long periods of time (like two hours), and high volumes of liquid held for short periods of time (10 or 15 minutes).

It wasn't becoming any more pleasant. I was simply becoming more familiar with the pain. Two hours, laying there with nothing to think about but a full bladder and wanting to release my urine... I have to say, I got used to it.

The second weekend we tried for the ultimate goal-- large volumes of liquid, held for long periods at a time.

Jason also did the most unusual thing. For our first exercise of the day on Saturday, he filled my bladder with 700 ml, which is quite full but not enough for incredibly painful cramps, and then we fucked.

Yeah, he inserted his cock into my cunt and fucked me, while I had the catheter inside me with a really full bladder.

Was it fun? Um... well, I came. A good, solid orgasm. Knowing the pain and pleasure together were part of the kinky experience, well I suppose it enhanced things a bit.

I love being fucked, raped in bondage; rough fucked in painful and difficult ways. So this wasn't that much different. The feeling of the catheter inside did sort of enhance the sensations, especially on my clit.

Jason reported afterward that he thought I felt noticeably tighter. I guess my full bladder created more of a bulge and pressure down on my vagina and he could feel it with his cock inside me.

Saturday afternoon we reached a sort of maximum goal. 900ml held for two hours. Good god that hurt, and it just went on and on, getting worse as it went on. I might have started at 900ml, but my kidneys were working and during the course of two hours I am sure they added another 100 or 200 ml. I mean, it really hurt, rather like having a charlie horse cramp in your leg, except this was inside my abdomen and didn't get any better. It got worse as time went on.

But ohhhhh... the amazing feeling of relief and joy when Jason finally unclamped me and the liquid ran out. I cried in relief, actually.

At 900ml you can really see the belly distended. It looked a bit like I was pregnant.

So... that was it for Saturday.

The last part of the training that occurred on Sunday was to fill my bladder but not tied up or immobile. I had to fill myself and show off my distended stomach proudly, walking about, doing housework, serving a meal.

I did this. For Jason, and for myself. By this point I was proud. Really proud of my achievement and how much I could take, how much pain and discomfort I could set aside in my mind and actually control myself.

It's rather like how my limits have expanded since I have been with Jason. I can spend more time secured in tight bondage, take more painful positions and torments, and I can do it all without complaining.

The next Friday evening I cooked a meal with 800ml in my bladder. I was naked, of course, and Jason would come by at times and put his hand on my stomach. We could see how I was distended, and yes it hurt but I went about the kitchen duties without complaining.

We sat down at the table (Jason clothed, myself naked) and had a nice time. It became increasingly difficult to hold the liquid without grimacing and showing the pain, but when the meal was done Jason came up to me and told me to show off my accomplishment.

I smiled and felt the curve of my abdomen, the tense flesh stretched over the expanded bladder. He touched it as well and told me how proud I was.

It's an accomplishment. I can take more pain now, I have confidence I can control my bladder better than anyone. It's an accomplishment in training my body, in extending my limits and in showing Jason my complete obedience to his control.