Vacuum Bed

As you may imagine I have acquaintance with a variety of people in the BDSM community in my area. My ex-next door neighbor (before I moved out during the divorce) is a dominatrix and has a pretty serious D/s relationship with her husband. She's good at it, maybe because she really believes in it. I've played with a few other men and even a woman or two in the greater LA area, and spent a little time in clubs in San Francisco (though that was a while ago).

One friend south of me (San Diego) is an inveterate kinkster and pervert (we shall call him Mark). I've played with him a bit over the years, but not a lot. (To be honest he isn't that great looking and while he is a nice guy, he just isn't my style). Anyway, Mark recently contacted me and asked if I wanted to try something out.

A vacuum bed.

Yeah, I've never done that one before; in fact I think I have kind of avoided it, which is strange because my core kink is to be restrained, immobilized, and then manipulated and perhaps tortured or fucked.

I think I have avoided the vacuum bed thing for so long because not many people have one; because of the noise of the vacuum going all the time (many vac-beds are not airtight and the vacuum noise just seems distracting and dumb); and because I just have a focus, a fetish if you will, on being tied up. I need to be forced, exposed, manipulated. A ring gag forcing my mouth open, allowing a fat cock to fuck my throat. Forced to be bent over so someone can ream my ass with a strapon. Legs tied and forced as wide open as they can go, exposed to my dom so he can fiddle with my cunt as much as he likes and there is nothing I can fucking do about it.

Vac-beds have just never appealed to me.

Mark told me a mutual friend of ours, Steve, has a brand new vac-bed, and it is supposedly airtight so the vacuum only runs for a few seconds. And it has "accessories." Huh. Well, I figured it was time for me to give it a try. I'm usually up to trying things once just to see whether I like them. I've done some pretty disgusting things just to try them. Once. At least now I know that drinking piss is really not something that gets me off in any way at all (I sorta knew that but hey-- now I know for sure).

You know, I have to say that a lot of times, the physical kink I have tried, the weird thing, isn't in any way pleasurable and I would really rather not do it and yet in combination with other things it can enhance a scene. Urine is an example.

Yeah, I hate the idea of drinking urine, or doing golden showers. I would never willingly just head for a bathroom and say, "hey, pee on me, it gets me off."  I've known guys that were into that, or wanted to try it. Nope. Not a turn on at all.

On the other hand, I have a strong kink, a real fetish for being tied up and forced to do things I don't like. The being forced to experience discomfort, pain, and do things I wouldn't normally do accentuates the feeling of helplessness in being restrained and in someone else's control. That's what I get off on.

 So yeah, I've been tied up, catheterized, and had the tube attached to a bag over my head so I was forced to slowly pee on myself. Drip... drop... drip... All while tied up in inescapably, unable to do a damn thing about it.

So it wasn't the urine itself that got me off. It was that I was tied up, helpless and forced to do something humiliating and obnoxious because there was nothing I could do about it. All while having a vibrator force me to an orgasm.

Yeah. I would never choose to do the whole pee thing, but... being forced while tied up... that gets me off.

So yeah, I am not going to go through all the disgusting things I have done, or done to myself over the years just in the name of trying things out.  But I've tried a lot, and one of them was urine.

Actually, the urine thing, the first time it happened wasn't my idea. I was about 25 and had turned myself over to a particularly intense dom, who had asked me about my limits. I had told him my limits were basically:

• Nothing that would cause permanent injury
• Nothing that would cause permanent disfigurement
• Nothing that would threaten my long term health
• Nothing that would require medical treatment
• Nothing that would cause temporary disfigurement in an area that would prevent me from being seen in public
• Nothing that would be public and could damage my reputation in any way
• Nothing illegal

Those are actually common sense, and cover things like no scarification, no deep cuts or tears of flesh, no electric play that would threaten the heart, nothing that is going to cause pulled muscles or torn ligaments, that kind of thing.

Apparently tying me to a chair and having me catheterized so my own slow urine production filled a plastic bag over my head... that was allowed. And yeah, I guess it was.

In fact, the guidelines above allow an incredibly broad set of really disgusting, unpleasant and painful things. Some electric play can be excruciatingly painful, and yet leave no scars, not even any real temporary wounds except for some redness-- light burns. The guidelines allow me to be hung upside down, tied into a tiny ball, forced to lick a toilet (though that could be considered threatening to health if the toilet is disgusting and covered with viruses).

The guidelines also allow for things like needles under fingernails, staples, minor blood play, being shoved in chests and transported to places other than where we started, enemas, induced vomiting, and... being forced to urinate on one's self.

I guess that's the whole idea. When I turn myself over to someone, I don't know what is going to happen. I know I will walk out of there essentially unharmed and able to continue my life, but for however long I am being dominated, I am helpless and out of control.

Wow, I am getting way off topic here. I was talking about the vac-bed.

But I think the discussion is relevant to why the vac-bed has never seemed that wonderful to me. It's extreme restraint, yes. But once restrained... then what? I love not being able to move. But I've become more and more dependent over the years and having other things going on that reinforce my helplessness. Pain. Disgusting things. Whatever. The vac-beds essentially seal you up so nothing can get to you. The experience is limited.

In the interest of experimentation and given the fact that vac-beds are not necessarily that easy to come by, I decided to take my friend up on his offer and give it a shot.

I've never played with Steve, though Mark has. Mark's bisexual and loves cock as well as pussy, and Steve has a gorgeous girlfriend and the three of them get together frequently for play involving spanking, nipple clamps, whips, chains... you know the drill. The one reason I have played with Mark at all is that he has a fair amount of equipment, which is a big advantage. He's got a couple of fucking/spanking horses, a St. Andrew's cross, chains and whips and plenty of hooks and eyelets in the ceiling and walls, and is just generally prepared to make life miserable for the likes of me.

Steve brought the vac-bed to Mark's place, because I trust Mark but haven't played with Steve yet and needed the extra reassurance of having a familiar person and environment. Nice thing about vacuum beds-- they can fold up and transport very easily.

I got to Mark's place in the early afternoon one Saturday and saw the vacuum bed all set up. He could have put it on the bed, but nooooo.... it was on a tile floor. We talked a bit, but then it was time for me to get naked.

Stripping in front of two hairy, drooling guys that are clothed is always a bit awkward, and also turns me on quite a bit. It's the beginning of me becoming submissive, of allowing someone else to take over and start doing things to me. I've been naked in front of guys so much in my life, you'd think I would be comfortable with it, which I am, but still... there is always this sense of vulnerability to stripping.

I folded my clothes and put them on a table, and stood waiting for them to instruct me. I didn't know what was going to happen other than I would be sealed inside this latex packaging that would make it almost impossible to move much.

The vac-bed looked a bit different that I thought it would. It was made of a heavier material than I thought, and had a metal rectangular frame-- I thought they were all PVC pipe. It was basically just to flat pieces of heavy black latex, except up at the top of one end was a small plastic pipe. My breathing tube.

I was getting nervous. And excited. Yeah, I am afraid so, my pussy was actually getting a bit wet just looking at this thing and being naked.

"OK, Siobhan, time to slip in. Just slide in this open part. Once inside, position under the breathing tube and grip it in your mouth," Steve was giving instructions, and holding the top latex sheet up.

I knelt and got on my ass, and slipped in to the thing as if it were a sleeping bag. It smelled a bit and felt really strange-- being latex it wasn't going to breathe and I began to sweat the moment my legs slid into it.

I scooched down and in. I remember the point where my head went in and I started up at the dark latex interior. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment that my face would be completely covered by the latex. A bit of light shown through, but not much. It was going to be like putting on a full hood. I wouldn't be able to see anything.

Nerves started taking over. This was really a bizarre experience. The smooth feeling of the latex was weird, not at all like actually being in a bed or sleeping bag. The feeling was very unnatural. My mouth searched for the breathing tube and I panicked just a bit. What if they vacuumed me before I get the breathing tube in? I calmed and managed to find it and grabbed it between my teeth. Breathing in through it I felt a bit better-- it was clear and breathing would be OK.

My hands were at my sides and I felt awkward-- what was I supposed to do with them? I slid my left had over my hips and between my legs, so I could masturbate while secured.

"Nope. Don't touch yourself," said Steve. I could hear him just fine. He was doing something with the top of the latex, rolling it up or something. I was sealed in pretty well at that point and had to breath through the tube. My eyes were closed because, well, there was nothing to look at and pretty soon the latex would squish down on my face. My breathing was slow and deep because I was forcing it that way.

Moving my hand to my side again, I felt Mark bang on the inside of my legs, telling me to spread them a bit. I did. The bed was wide enough I could spread my legs in a good V, exposing my cunt, though at the moment nothing could get to it. I didn't really wonder why he wanted my legs spread; guys always want me to spread my legs.

I lay there in the latex, sweating like a pig and feeling a combination of nervous and silly.

Suddenly, it happened. It was surprising how fast it was. One moment I was simply laying between two sheets of latex, the next the vacuum was on and the latex was squeezing together. It took all of 3 or 4 seconds before I could feel the squeeze of the latex on my body. The vacuum remained on another 10 seconds or so, pulling the last bit of air out.

Whoa, that thing was tight. I mean, I lay there and felt the latex just squeeze and conform to my body like a shell, and I couldn't move. Almost immediately I couldn't move. Not even my fucking fingers.

I had never felt anything so complete. Bondage, shmondage. This fucker had just immobilized every bit of my body. What a fucking fantastic feeling.

The vacuum went off in less than 30 seconds and all was quiet. I could then hear Mark and Steve talking. They were discussing what I looked like in latex. Apparently the shape of my body was clear and perfectly visible, right down to my camel toe.

I tried to move. I could move a bit, mostly up and down, but not side to side. The latex was flexible, but I couldn't move out of it or inside it. Just push or pull it. There was no problem breathing, either, even though the latex was smashed down against my chest.

Which was where I felt their hands. Both guys were feeling me, running their hands along my body in the latex. I could feel the pressure, though not the fine texture of their skin because, obviously, there was a layer of latex between us. Even so I had the nervous tingle of knowing someone was feeling my body and I was helpless about it.

I kept trying to move a bit here and there; I tried moving my hands over to my legs and to my clit, it was impossible. I couldn't even move my fingers. I wasn't completely immobile because the latex itself would stretch and move a bit, but the vacuum was complete and there was no way my body was moving between the latex sheets.

Someone's hand reached between my legs and massaged my pussy. I thrust my hips up a bit, urging them on. I had no idea who it was, but it didn't matter. Someone was masturbating me and I might as well urge them on.

Then the vibrator came. Right on my pussy. My breathing quickened, my thrusts and wiggles got a bit more intense. I couldn't do anything, couldn't get away from it, and it was just... there. Urging me slowly but relentlessly to climax.

It only took three minutes or so. Being totally restrained, so totally bound, was incredibly arousing to me and the vibrator had me whimpering through my breathing tube in no time. I made a very un-ladylike grunting noise when I came.

The vibrator kept on, even when I orgasmed. They didn't remove it and it drove me insane. I was too sensitive down there, I wanted it stopped, and I actually made word noises through the tube, begging for mercy. No such luck. The vibrator stayed exactly where it was, and I felt myself slowly accepting it and wriggling with it, and then finally climaxing again. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck...

Finally the vibrator was removed. Nothing happened for a while.

I heard the two guys talking a bit. Slightly muffled, but I could understand.

"Try it now?"

"Yeah. How long?"

"Start with a few seconds, work her up to longer."

What were they talking about?

I found out what they were talking about when I suddenly couldn't breathe any more. The breathing tube was blocked off. I'd say I started gasping, but gasping involves actually get in some air. My body contracted, my stomach and chest moved, I tried to suck in air, but there was nothing to suck in.

It only lasted a few seconds but came so suddenly, was so shocking, it completely destroyed my mental state. I started moaning and protesting through the tube as soon as they released it, grunting and begging for them not to do that again.

Of course, that had no effect. A took all of three breaths and whammo-- no air. I pulled and grasped and tried to move and struggle, but I couldn't. I literally couldn't move anything other than to lift my stomach and chest up, and push my hips around an inch or so. It wasn't as much of a shock the second time, but damn it was so completely mentally stripping, to realize I was so helpless.

I almost came again right then.

The breathing tube was blocked about once a minute after that, for 30 seconds each.

Then the vibrator came again. Each time the vibrator was pressed on my cunt, the air was cut off. So if I was being sexually stimulated, I couldn't breath. If I could breathe, the vibrator was gone. This cycle went on for several minutes until I finally came again, my entire body shaking and vibrating in the latex.

Finally my breathing was left alone, but the fear the breath control had implanted in my brain was still there. I knew any breath might be my last and began panting a bit.

"Don't breathe too fast, you'll hyperventilate," Steve said. I did try to slow my breathing.

I was wondering how long I had been in the bed. My body was bathed in sweat, unable to evaporate. I wasn't hot though, it was just sweat that had no place to go.

Suddenly I was being lifted up. The two men had grabbed the steel frame and lifted me off the floor. Where on earth were they taking me?

Nowhere, it seemed. They lifted me up slightly, then lifted my legs up higher and higher until I was upside down.

Now, realize that while I couldn't completely articulate because I had a tube in my mouth, I could still make a lot of noise. I am sure some of it was comprehensible. So when I swore at them, "mother fucking assholes goddamn bastards..." I heard laughter.

"You want some more vibrator?" Mark said.

"No thoot eee down..." I said. "Athholth."

"She wants more vibrator," Mark said. A moment later the vibrator was pushed against my cunt at full power, vibrating like I was riding the back of a Harley.

"Thhhuuucccckkkkk....." I said through the tube and concentrated on having another orgasm. I'd had three already, which was pretty good for a session, but frankly I was feeling like I had found my ideal bondage. Complete immobility.

The blood was rushing to my head, which is always unpleasant. I've spent a lot of time upside down in my life and it is never pleasant. I've never lost consciousness, but come close a couple of times.

When the fourth orgasm was over they spanked me. Holy fuck. I was upside down but that meant both my front and back were exposed and they had decided my latex covered ass was too tempting and got a big paddle Mark has for some of his special guests.

Each strike on my ass hurt like hell. I mean, the flesh didn't sting because of the impact on bare skin, it was more like getting a good paddling with jeans on. Except somehow the latex transmitting the impact better than denim, and I think the sweat that had built up added some sting or something. In any case, even though my ass was covered with latex, it was still thin and clinging enough that spanking felt as bad as any I had gotten.

I was crying, sobbing through my breathing tube when they stopped, and yes tears had collected around my eyes.

I guess that seemed like enough to them because they put me back down on the floor and released the latch and air filled the bed. It didn't rush in, but the tight sensation relieved right away, and when I wriggled, I could get more and more air in and finally had the two sheets of latex completely apart.

It was hella lot easier getting out. I slid right out because I was wet from sweat.

"Wow, you look like that was rough," Mark said. I didn't know it but being in that thing had totally messed with my makeup and skin, made me look like a zombie skeletazoid.

"Fuck that was intense," I said. They gave me water, I relaxed in a chair (no longer feeling weird being naked in front of them).

"I really need a shower," I got up and went into Mark's bathroom.

When I came out and got dressed, Mark asked, "So have you changed your mind about vacuum beds?"

"Um, yeah... I think I like them," I said. "I think I would still prefer being tied up, but yeah..."

Just before I left I confessed to Mark a thought that had been haunting me since halfway through the experience.

"I think this was very similar to mummification. I've never been mummified. I may have to try it sometime."

Mark grinned. "I can help with that."

I laughed. "I think I might try it with Jason first. Thanks Steve. It was a trip."

Switch

Sunday morning I knelt nude before Jason's front door and rang the bell. As I waited for the door to be opened and hoped that none of the neighbors would come walking by at that exact moment, I thought about my submissive.

Ashley.

A younger girl that has a life. A family. She works hard. Has a bit of OCD, needs to touch certain things when she enters or exits her house, but nothing disruptive. Generally a happy person.

And she's a person with a deep seated need to be humiliated, bound and made to obey.

She isn't really my girlfriend, but we have a relationship. She's not committed to me, and I am certainly not committed to her. But we have an understanding. She is to present herself to me at certain times. Obey me in certain ways. Allow me to do certain things to her. She needs this, and at some level, enjoys it. I don't need to dominate her, but I do enjoy it. I enjoy her, and being served by her.

The day before I had spent a few hours with Ashley. She needed a whipping. Not that she had done anything that bad, in fact she hadn't. She simply needed one.

It began Saturday morning in my house. Since I moved out of my home with Jason, I took a bit of time to search for a house. A condo would have been cheaper but frankly, I need a certain level of privacy. Things happen in my place that can result and cries, grunts, pleading, maybe even a scream or two. I found a house with a certain level of privacy without costing a huge amount. I wish I could have found a place with a basement. California doesn't have basements.

Ashley had spent the night, and we were in bed together. I do like having her in my bed. I actually prefer women in my bed. I am bisexual, with a leaning toward women. Guys can be fun and great, depending on who. They are usually best when dominating me. But girls-- I prefer them in my bed over men.

I woke with her in my arms. She's shorter, smaller than I and fits nicely as the small spoon. I decided to give her a bit of rude awakening. I reached over to the bedside table and got the nipple clamps that had been there for the last week. I slid one onto her left nipple.

That woke her right up. "OWwwww...." were her first words.

"Shhh... just lay there..." I whispered to her as I kissed her cheek. She obeyed while the second nipple clamp went on her right nipple. She grimaced a bit.

"You may remove those when you make me cum," I said tenderly.

"Yes, ma'am."

The covers kicked off and she positioned between my spread legs and went to work. She's experienced and has a magic tongue. She seems to be able to make it curl and probe and do things that most people can't. She also knows I have a bit of a kink for anal, and has acquired the skill of pressing on my anus just... right... so that it enhances my overall arousal.

Once she was assured I was wet (almost immediately), she slid first one, then two fingers inside, slightly curled. I've trained her well. My back was arching, nipples hard, face flushed and hips rocking with her in no time.

Yes, I had an orgasm, but I didn't tell her that. I told her to keep going. She probably knew I had cum, it's pretty obvious when I do, but I told her I hadn't and to keep going. She did. I don't have to stop after one orgasm, I can keep going without stopping, especially with girls. So I kept going, had a second orgasm a few minutes later, and demanded she keep going.

Her frustration was becoming obvious. I was thrusting my hips, demanding she perform when she was doing her best. It was patently unfair, which is exactly what I wanted. Finally I told her to stop.

"You've failed. That was total, complete failure, Ash, and I am disappointed in you. This will require a punishment. Go to the mirror. Look at yourself, at your naked body, at the clamps that are on your nipples causing you pain. Look and see the young submissive that has failed her mistress."

She humbly went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

"Pull the nipple clamps out, stretch your nipples, and watch your face as you do."

She pulled on them, stretching her nipples and small breasts out and cringing as she did. I know how much those things can hurt and she was feeling it.

"Slap your face, hard. As hard as you can. Five times."

She closed her eyes for a moment, preparing herself, then slapped her face. Her right cheek hinted at turning pink.

"Keep your eyes open, look at yourself in the mirror as you endure this self punishment!" I told her sharply from the bed.

After the five slaps I came up behind her and kissed her reddened cheak. "Good girl."

I reached around to her breasts and removed the clamps. She moaned a bit. They always hurt coming off.

We showered and I got dressed. She isn't allowed to wear clothes at my place, unless I specifically tell her to for some reason. She did, however, attach her leash to her collar. I led her downstairs where she ate her breakfast from a bowl as I ate mine at the table.

She was on all fours right next to me as we ate. My hand strayed to her and stroked her hair at times. I reached to her ass and spread her cheeks, sliding my finger down to her slit, and inserting into her cunt. She gasped and stopped eating as I played with her sex for a bit.

"Time to wash up," I announced and got up from the table. I clipped her leash to a small eyelet in the kitchen. The leash is long enough she can do the dishes and put them away-- barely. It was fun watching her.

The leash isn't locked. She could unclip it at any time. She could reach up and unbuckle the collar at any time. The fact that she doesn't is what turns us both on so much. When I fasten her to something, she stays there.

After she was done cleaning up, I found fault with the kitchen. There's always something imperfect and it is easy to find fault. "You didn't dry this section!" "There are some crumbs on the tiles by the baseboard!"

That's when I told her. "I think you need a whipping."

The look she gave me was that darling look of anxiety mixed with excitement. She wanted to be whipped. She really did. She wanted it and was afraid of it. Maybe she wanted it because she was afraid of it. Didn't matter.

"First I will give you some outdoor time. Come along."

I took her leash and went into the back yard. My yard has a fence surrounding it. The neighbors behind me are a bit lower, so they can't see over. The neighbors on either side... well, they can see over if they stand on tiptoes and peak. If they do, they would have seen a naked female slave sitting on a concrete patio, leashed to a water feed pipe going into the house. Let's hope they don't.

Ashley spent an hour outside soaking up the sun and getting a nice full body tan. I know she was humiliated by this, which is really part of why I did it. I spent the time organizing some things in the house.

When I was ready, I came back outside and asked her, "Are you ready for the whipping?"

Her chest heaved in a sigh and she said "Yes, ma'am."

The whipping took place in my garage. The floor is pretty clean in there, and I park outside, leaving a rather large open play area. The door has a row of windows at the top but they are high enough no one can see in without stepping onto a ladder. Unless someone is hanging, suspended up high.

Leather restraint cuffs went onto Ashley's wrists and ankles. The wrist cuffs were clipped to a small hook and chain that went up and through a pulley. The ankle cuffs were clipped to the ends of a three foot bar-- a leg spreader.

I have to say, I love the human body when suspended and stretched. Ashley's wrists went up as I pulled and made sure she was on tiptoes. Most of her weight was on her wrists, but not all of it. Her toes touched the cold concrete.

Ashley wanted to be whipped. I knew this because we had talking about it before. She had been whipped once before in her life, but I think it was with someone that was insecure and didn't use the right whip and in general Ashley felt it was not a satisfactory experience. She had expressed the desire to really take a whipping. To know what it felt like. To feel the submissiveness to the pain.

So I knew that she wanted this, and having been in her place many times before, I knew exactly what she was feeling. The anticipation, the fear, the knowledge it was going to really hurt, wondering whether one can take it, then realizing it was too late, that you were going to take it, like it or not...

I took a little time to worship her body, running my hand along the little ridges of her ribs under the flesh of her sides, kissing her breasts, fondling her (very wet) cunt, pinning her hair up and out of the way. She was breathing hard.

I used a strap, not a whip. Whippings deliver a specific amount of force. While a flogger with numerous strands seem like they would do more damage, the force tends to be spread out with them. A single tailed whip will cut deeper. The strap I used was wide enough it dispersed some of the force into a wider area, but would leave some pretty nasty welts. It wouldn't cut flesh, but would hurt.

"Twelve strokes?" I asked her.

She looked down at the concrete floor. "Twenty," she said quietly.

"Twenty it is," I said and swung back. The first blow was to her upper back, across the shoulder blades. She jerked, yelped, and swore. "FUCK..."

"I think you should count. Let's do that one again."

The strap hit her in almost the exact same place. "FFccccuuuucckkkkk.... one!" she said.

The red welt from the first two blows was just beginning to show.

The next strike went to the upper back as well. Whipping someone is actually a safety concern. There are certain areas you don't want to whip-- the face for example, because of the eyes, and also because a cut to the nose or lips or ear might not heal right and you could get a facial scar. And no strikes to the lower back. Kidneys are exposed there. Even with a relatively safe flogger, it's best to avoid this area.

So her upper back was slowly turning pink, then red, then angry red as the welts developed. She jerked and writhed in the restraints, which let me know I was doing a good job. She was complaining bitterly, yelping and crying, but was clearly not going to ask me to stop.

With ten strokes left, I moved to her thighs. I think this surprised her, which is always good. A surprise during a whipping is always a delight. She yelped and almost screamed (my garage is private, but a good loud scream could potentially be heard by neighbors). The leather strap went around the back of her left thigh, circled around the inside (barely clipping her labia lips), and wrapped around the front and outside of her leg.

The second thigh stroke, this one to the right thigh, brought a stream of vulgarity from her mouth. "Holy muther fucking .... "

But she missed the count. I waited a moment. "Count. If you get it wrong we will have to start over." I said.

"Fuck. Twelve!" she grunted out.

I took a moment to slide my fingers along her muscular back touching the skin as it turned red and even a bit purple. No bikini wear for her, not for a couple of weeks at least.

Kissing her lips, I whispered, "I am proud of you."

She grinned in a grim way and prepared herself for the last eight strokes. Several of those were on her thighs, and most of the rest on her ass, which turned a satisfying shade of red and purple later.

The very last stroke went straight up between her legs, landing perfectly on her pussy. She screamed, another surprise dragging the reaction from her. "TWENTY!" She called out and then sort of collapsed, hanging from her wrists.

I unbuckled her leg spreader and then her wrists, catching her as she sort of fell into my arms. I helped her inside and we went to the bedroom, where I lay her on her stomach and began applying some antibiotic ointment.

This time with her after the whipping was delightful. She relaxed and cried, the stress of the situation finally being let out. She then laughed, and talked about what it felt like, and as the immediate memory of the whipping faded, she said, "It wasn't as bad as I thought."

I laughed. "We will have to do it again sometime."

"Eh.... maybe not right away. I think I need to heal from this one."

My ministrations to her back and legs turned into a gentle massage, which in turn morphed into an embrace. We made careful, and gentle love.

Yes, I thought of all of this as I knelt at Jason's door. He took longer to answer than normal. Usually he answered in about a minute, this time it was three or four. I rang the bell again, to make sure he had heard it. I remembered Ashley in my back yard, sitting for an hour nude. I hoped my time waiting would not last more than a couple of minutes.

Eventually he came, opening the door to observe where I knelt before him. "Siobhan, rise and come in. Put your clothes there, as usual."

Jason invited me in and I walked out of view of the public with a sense of relief.

"I think you were getting a bit pushy there with the doorbell."

"I apologize, Jason. I was worried you had not heard it."

"You just don't like being out there on the doorstep waiting with no clothes on," he said knowingly. He was right of course.

"Come in," he said. "Today we will begin with your service to me."

OK, I just realized I probably need to explain something here. Jason is my ex. Ex-husband. We'd been married a number of years. I've been with dozens of people that have dominated me and tried to fulfill my needs just as I try to fulfill Ashley's needs. My own needs are incredibly complex and there is probably no one person that can meet them all.

I need to be tied up. I need to have my freedom taken, and to be abused. No, I don't like being hit by an abusive partner. I've left men because of that, and that's where some of the nuance comes in. I need to be tied up and feel helpless, and have that helpless feeling reinforced and strengthened through pain and humiliation.

I also need to be loved. To be cared for. To have fun. To have my creative side nurtured. To travel and see the world. And be respected at work, and to contribute. I need sex, regular sex, and for that I actually tend to prefer women. I need to have someone be strong when I am weak, and allow me to be strong and helpful at times.

Yeah, it's a mess, but Jason is the closest thing I ever came to a person that meets my needs. He isn't perfect, not by a long shot (thus we are getting divorced), but it didn't change the fact that he knows me and can meet so many of my needs. Mostly around the act of bondage, punishment and torture. And sex (though guy sex, admittedly).

So, I am continuing to see Jason. Rules have changed. The relationship has changed. We don't take each other for granted as much. We are no longer committed to each other. But we meet each other's needs in a unique way. So the relationship continues.

OK, back to Sunday.

Jason quickly tied my upper body. A body harness, compressing my breasts slightly with rope above and below. He then maneuvered my hands up, angling them behind my back.

It was a strain. Put palms together behind my back, lower back pointing down. Then flip them to turn them up in a prayer position, fingertips up. At this point my palms were facing each other, but that was all that was touching. I knew then what he was doing. Tying a reverse prayer.

Reverse prayers are one of the tightest, nastiest arm binding positions possible. Many girls can't do it, you have to be flexible and be relatively thin. I am fortunately (or unfortunately) both.

Jason tied my wrists together then pulled on the rope, sliding and pulling my hands up behind my back. I grunted a bit, but he kept pushing it, pulling my arms up behind me.

A quick loop of rope around my forearms drawing them closer together, and then more pulling up, and finally a loop of rope around my elbows, drawing them together as well.

My forearms were now bound together in an extreme reverse prayer. Holy Crap.

I have done a few reverse prayers before in my life, but this was way more demanding than anything. Once in place, it was a strain and I knew it would begin to hurt in a while. Cramps would set it. But for now, I was able to hold it.

Not that I had a choice, which was the point, of course. It felt very, very restrictive. My arms had essentially been completely disabled in a tight and somewhat painful way.

"Now," Jason said. "Suck my cock."

He was clothed (I was not, of course). He stood there. Clearly expecting me to get to his cock. I was tied in a position that completely remove the ability to use my hands at all. If my wrists had simply been tied, I could have turned around and gotten to his belt, but in that nasty reverse prayer? No.

So I knelt and began working on his belt with my teeth.

It took a few minutes, but I finally got it undone. Then... the top of his pants were held with a sort of clasp. I couldn't get it undone for the life of me. I tried and tried. The movement and struggle of trying caused my arms to strain and move, which in turn caused cramps in them. I began whimpering.

Finally, I grabbed the top flap of his pants with my teeth and pulled as hard as I could and the thing came loose. I ripped a bit of the cloth as it did.

So his zipper. Fuck... zippers don't go down unless they are held straight. I tried and tried. It went down a bit but the cloth would bunch and it would jam and I couldn't get it down more than a tiny bit.

"If I have to help you, you will be punished," Jason said. Well, there it was. He was setting me up for failure, just as I had pushed failure on Ashley the day before.

If the Dom wants to find a reason to punish a sub, there is always a way.

I sank down with my ass on my feet and looked up at him. "I can't do it," I confessed.

He unzipped for me.

Then it was easy. Pulling his pants down with my teeth, then his underpants, and his rather large and hard cock sprang out, eager for me to take it inside me.

Which I did. I took his cock in my mouth, the familiar feeling of my longtime erstwhile husband filling my mouth and throat. I know him well enough I know every reaction, every muscle twitch, and know exactly how to get him off. And he can't fake an orgasm; if he comes it is really obvious because it goes in my face, or down my throat.

Being in the reverse prayer was frustrating and painful, though I have given countless blow jobs while tied up and that didn't bother me. It was that the more I moved the more my shoulders and back cramped and I think Jason had jacked off before I got there because he wasn't cumming very easily.

I worked him though. I know how to massage his frenulum and head with the back of my tongue and throat-- drives him crazy. That all goes to shit if he grabs my head and starts fucking my face, though. Then all I can do is try and keep from choking and barfing on him.

He let me work him and eventually he came. I could feel the pulsation in his cock, the contractions, and the warm fluid flooding my throat. I swallowed as he came, keeping up and when he withdrew I was relatively clean. A little mucus and saliva stringing down from my lips, but not like some of the times I have been throat fucked and had saliva, cum and vomit covering my chest and breasts.

I recovered a bit and asked politely if I could have the reverse prayer removed. "Please?"

He considered. "Eh. You are really beautiful in that, Siobhan. I don't think you understand how gorgeous it makes you look."

Thing is, he thinks I look beautiful when I am suffering. I know this. I get this. I suspect I do sort of look beautiful suffering, an a sadomasochistic way.

I lowered my head in sort of a "I give up" way, and said, "Please..."

"OK. I have something else for you anyway. I think you've been missing on long term bondage since you moved out. Time we catch up with that. Consider it punishment for ringing the bell so eagerly when you arrived."

This is what I had signed up for. When I arrived at my old house, at Jason's door, and removed my clothes to kneel and wait for him outside, I was making the gesture that I would submit to his binding, discipline, and yes, torture. Because I needed it.

He took me into the old play room, set up when he and I were married and filled over the years with equipment and various implements. I had experienced a lot of pain and humiliation in that room over the years, and had a lot of fun and orgasms, as well. It felt like home.

Finally, he undid the reverse prayer. It must have been on maybe an hour or so, which was enough to mess with  circulation, cramping me horribly, and my hands were numb. I felt like a chicken whose wings had been ripped off. And he didn't undo my wrists, they were still bound behind my back, though my hands were hanging relatively free on the top of my ass.

Blood flowed through my arms and I groaned as the pain surged a bit, then slowly receded.

"Thank you, Jason." I said. "That was intense. And painful."

"We'll give you a little time to recover before we begin the strappado," he said.

My face fell. Strappado. An ancient torture technique. Incredibly simple, it consisted of tying the victims wrists together behind their back then lifting them up until the victim was suspended off the floor, hanging by their wrists, their entire body weight pulling on their twisted and deformed shoulders and arms.

The more intense version was called squassation, in which weights were added to the feet, forcing more strain on the joints and sometimes causing joint dislocation. In the most severe squassation, the victim was lifted up and then dropped; this guaranteed joint dislocation and the tearing, shredding of muscles and other tissues.

I've been in strappado before, and was injured in it. That was one of my more serious injuries; my arm in a sling for several weeks after. I was able to avoid surgery, but it was painful and debilitating for a long time. Strappado was nothing to take lightly.

These days, the BDSM and porn communities call anything where a woman's wrists are raised behind her back, even just a foot or two, "strappado". That's silly and I find it demeaning and misleading as to the actual nature and intensity of the torture method. Jason knew what he was doing, and when he said strappado, he didn't mean lifting my arms up a bit behind my back.

(Need I remind anyone that this kind of BDSM play is damned intense and injury can occur very easily, as I can attest to? Don't fuck with it unless you know what you are doing.)

I breathed in and calmed myself. I reminded myself that I have a safe word. Not the earth shattering safe word that ended my marriage, but a regular, everyday safe word. I could do this. It was why I was here. To immerse myself in extreme bondage.

I stood in the play room, feet on the thin layer of rubber padding we had installed several years below. The play room is more or less soundproofed, and the rubber coating on the floor serves two purposes. First, it softens any impact from an unintentional drop or fall. It had saved me more than once.

Second, the rubber matting was fluid proof. Body fluid proof. A victim (usually me), could lose bladder control, bleed, vomit, drool, release their bowels... whatever might happen. The rubberized matting was easy cleanup.

My arms had recovered and all was well. Jason checked the rope bindings on my wrists to make sure they were secure (he tied them and he is good; they were secure). A rope threaded through a simple pulley above hung down in the middle of the room. He attached this to my wrists.

Then he tied my elbows together again.

Dammit. I'm easily flexible enough to have elbows tied or wear an armbinder for a long time. But during strappado? This was going to be a first.

He lifted my arms up, pulling the rope through the pulley. He went a few feet, which essentially forced me over, my arms sticking up in back of me, my ass jutting out, my boobs dangling down. I could have tried to stay straight, but no one in strappado does that, cause it hurts. The natural, the only thing one can do when your arms are yanked up behind you is bend over.

OK, I am going to stop here and go on another weird diversion/rant.

I'm a woman and I like to feel, look, and be sexy. I like men looking at me (most of the time). Most women do, whether they admit it or not. I like to think my naked body is attractive.

One thing that happens in bondage and punishment? I am not attractive. My breasts get tied up into ugly purple balls. I drool all over myself. I cry and my mascara runs all over. My body gets forced into very unladylike, every not-elegant positions. Bondage and torture is humiliating. I suppose I get off on it a little; like many bondage related things, it's a love-hate thing. I love it because I hate it.

Having one's arms tied behind in a reverse prayer I happen to think is somewhat attractive. Undignified, yes, but it forces remarkably good posture and one's breasts are nicely displayed. I think I looked good in the reverse prayer.

Being forced to bend over while in strappado is very unladylike. I presented and pushed out my ass because I had no choice. But worse than that...

He inserted one of those hideous, embarrassing jeweled ass plugs.

I hate those fucking things. They don't hurt or anything, they aren't large enough. It's the idea of having attention drawn to my anus, and decorating it with a jewel. It's dumb. Stupid. Like being forced to wear a pirate hat at an office party.

Which is probably exactly why Jason did it. He knows I hate those things. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it because I was bent way over with my arms sticking up into the air. I took the ass plug.

"You look so cute with a jeweled ass sticking out like that," he said, admiring his work.

"Fuck you, Jason," I said and immediately regretted it as he pulled the rope up another two feet.

I could no longer bend completely over, the rope was pulling up too far. My arms had moved from a 45 degree angle to my back to something more like a 60 or 70 degree angle. My shoulders hurt and my chest was getting tight.

Jason spent some time enjoying my body, as I could do little to stop him. He likes playing with me when I can't prevent it. Things like sticking fingers into my mouth, examining my throat and tongue. Fingers up my cunt, spreading it out. He gave my ear a wet willie. What an asshole.

I wasn't going to antagonize him though; I wasn't going to give him any excuses to prolong this session.

When he was done playing, he continued pulling the rope up until I was on my tip toes. The strain on my shoulders was bad, they felt really like tendons or muscles or something were ripping inside there. I was crying, just a bit.

Pain is your body warning you that something bad is happening to your body. That damage, if it hasn't already occurred, is likely to occur soon unless you do something about it. I desperately wanted to stop the pain, prevent the damage, but at the same time I was reveling in it. This was what I live for. Flirting with danger, pushing my limits, seeing how close I can come. My body was on fire with pain and adrenaline, and I suspect my fair share of endorphins.

Jason in the meantime had undressed. He was naked and strutting around me having the time of his life making me suffer. His cock was sticking straight out, rock hard. It's actually a bit of a turn on for me to see how my suffering makes him hard.

Then I went up another foot, my toes lost contact with the rubber flooring and I was swinging free.

Certain types of torture create certain reactions in the victims. It's a direct, universal response to the type of torture. Crucifixion victims push up, trying to stand to relieve the pain in their upper body, then sink down when that becomes too painful, moving up and down. Riding the wooden pony, a victim will move their body weight backward to shift where the wooden point is digging into their groin; back to their ass, then forward, then center, then back. It creates the illusion of riding, moving back and forth.

And strappado victims (such as myself at that moment) do their best to lean forward.

I bent at the waist, trying to get my ass shifted and pushed back so my back wasn't straight up and down. If you do it right, you can actually lean forward some, which relieves some of the twisting pressure on the shoulders. This is the position the extra weights of squassation are designed to counteract-- forcing the victim's arms to twist all the way around and go straight up behind them.

I am writing all this analytically now, but while it was happening to me, it was just me and my body trying to cope with the pain and position any way it could.

The secondary discomfort from strappado is across the chest. The muscle strain from the shoulders actually hurts all the way across the chest and as time goes on, it hurts across the entire torso. It's harder to breathe when hanging like that. It hurts to take a full breath. So... I was taking shallow little breaths, panting almost. I couldn't scream, or cry out because that takes a nice deep breath. So I was whimpering, a sort of keening whine sound.

He spun me around.

You would think that with all that pain going on in your body, you wouldn't be as aware of your surroundings, but I was. I saw Jason, naked there, his hand on his cock stroking. His other hand gently feeling my upper body, then feeling between my legs and rubbing me there.

He lowered me until I was just barely on me feet. It relieved a lot of the strain.

"oh... oh god... oh god, Jason... please... "

"I think you need some encouragement, Siobhan, my love." Jason walked over to a side table and got a vibrator, one of the small kind designed to stim just the clit. They really, really work on me.

Up I went again, my full weight on my wrists and shoulders. I grunted and groaned under the strain. I heard the soft buzz of the vibrator. Then I felt it between my legs, finding its way between the folds of my pussy and finally coming to rest on my clit.

Fuck, those things drive me crazy. Initially the stim is too much. I am too sensitive down there and when he pressed it against me I jerked and actually wriggled to try and get away.

Big mistake, the wriggling strained my shoulders even more, the pain sharply increasing. I couldn't struggle.

I looked down at Jason. He was looking at my face carefully. I knew he was looking for and listening for the safe word. The second I said it, he would let me down. I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes and the vibrator pressed into my clit and I panted and felt the slow pleasure building, competing with the pain in my upper body.

"Fuuuuuuuuuckkkk...." I said in a hoarse whisper.

Deliberately misunderstanding me, Jason responded, "you're in the wrong position for me to fuck you, and besides if I fucked you, you would bounce around and it might dislocate your shoulders."

He kept the clit vibrator on me, letting the stimulation build. He moved it a bit from side to side, fingered inside me some, pressing against the wall of my vagina against the shape of the anal plug he had inserted.

My feet touch the ground and some of the pressure was relieved. I took the opportunity to breathe deeper. The vibrator had been taken away, though. I was OK with that, I needed the rest.

"Thank you," I said.

"For vibrating you? Or for letting you down? Or for putting you up?" He said mischievously.

He showed me his cock, rock hard, stroking it. "See what your suffering does for me?" he said.

I wasn't gagged but I was drooling. If I hadn't peed before come over, I would have unloaded my bladder by that time, as well. This was intense.

And up I went again. Oh fuck, I was hanging free again, all my weight on my shoulders and I cried out, tried to cry though I couldn't take a deep breath, but then the vibrator was on my clit again and this time it pushed me and pleasured me and I felt it rubbing up and down, back and forth, and the warm glow feeling met the pain and somehow the pain wasn't as bad for a bit as the orgasm flooded through my body.

One thing I have learned from doing this kind of thing for almost 20 years, is the ability to have an orgasm while still in pain. Certain types of pain can actually make sexual climaxes easier-- nipple clamp pain, or simple whippings do that. I honestly wonder if some day I will have some nipple clamps put on me, and orgasm spontaneously at the first strike of the whip.

Jason knew I had come, though cries of sexual climax and cries of pain are sometimes difficult to differentiate. He knows me though, and knew the signs.

He removed the vibrator and lowered me down. All the way. Until I was laying on my side on the floor and he was untying my elbows.

The relief was tremendous, though the pain continued. I couldn't move my arms in front of me, especially the left one, without pain. Jason massaged me, getting the circulation going, relaxing the muscles. Eventually I was able to more or less hold my arms normally.

I had pulled a muscle in my left arm, that's for sure. I could tell. It wasn't serious but it would take some recovery time.

As I lay on the rubber matting of the floor recovering, Jason sat beside me, gently fondling various parts of my body.

"I would have fucked you up there you know. Would have liked to. But ... well, we haven't discussed that. We aren't together any more and I don't know how you'd feel about it."

That was so weird and yet so right. He felt perfectly fine applying medieval torture methods to my naked body, but felt he needed to ask permission before sticking his cock in my cunt.

"Yeah. You can fuck me anytime you want, when we are playing. Outside of that, probably not."

He nodded. "I get that. Let me help you up."

He didn't pull me up by my arms or hand, he wrapped an arm around my waist. Thoughtful guy.

The afternoon play time was over. I was surprised looking at the clock, it was 5:00pm. Time had flown by.

I got dressed, had a juice and some water to rehydrate.

"You want me to help clean up the play room?" I said. "Know I drooled and may have peed some up there."

"Nah," he said, putting one arm around my waist. "My pleasure to clean up your body fluid."

I chuckled and we kissed. It was a kiss like old times, when he loved me.

I then headed out of the door, leaving the house and man that were once mine but no longer were.

Before he closed the door, I called back, "Thank you," then got in my car gingerly, not using my left arm, and drove home carefully.

A slight diversion

I can't say this is a completely new development in my life, but it isn't entirely expected, either.

I appear to have acquired a submissive. A young lady named Ashley. How we fell in with each other is a long story, and one that seems most unlikely and rather surprising even to me. But she and I seem to be hitting it off.

Ash is quite a bit younger than I, but is mature for her age (I am mid-30s and she is early 20s). She's thin, supple, small breasts, cute, strong, and very submissive. Well, with me at least. We fell in together because of a common interest in bdsm and the culture/community. As things progressed, she proposed a scene for us. I was hesitant with this because I am... well, a submissive myself.

But I've been a domme, especially when younger. Always with men though. I really don't get off on tying someone else up or tormenting them, not the way I enjoy it for myself. But with her it seemed to be a need to be in a relationship, one that involved her submitting and being sexually humiliated and dominated, but still a caring relationship.

Let me tell you, that is not easy. It is possible, but finding the right girl to do that is not easy. Heck, it is hard to find the right girl at all, you know? Relationships don't come easy, especially lesbian ones.

So we gave it a try. And it worked out. She was very pleased, and the fact she was pleased made me happy, and that was enough. We have continued to arrange sessions and have played together quite enjoyably.

While I've talked about my bisexuality some on here, it was some time ago and was focused primarily on my early years exploring bondage and how some of my early attempts to involve others occurred with girls. I am bisexual. I actually find relationships with women more fulfilling emotionally than those with men; it's just that the kind of strict and extreme bdsm I crave typically requires men. Very few women are good tops in the way I need it.

My relationship with Ash is based more on... well... let's call it mutual lust, than a strict D/s or BDSM structure. The D/s relationship gives us a very kinky framework for what is turning out to be a passionate affair.

When I submit to a man, I tend to get tied up in extremely uncomfortable positions, and abused in ways that create pain, psychological torment and long term discomfort, not to mention humiliation and frustration. It can get quite intense. The pain and discomfort are a means to emphasize my helplessness in bondage, as well as get adrenaline and endorphins flowing inside me. It can be a mind blowing trip.

With Ashley, it is more a relationship thing, where she willingly submits to activities, mild discomfort or embarrassment, all to please me. The mental dynamics are very different, even though many of the outer mechanics might seem similar.

An example of our relationship and how things have evolved.

We went out to Denny's recently. We both wore jeans. I was wearing a black band t-shirt, she had on a knit polo shirt (very preppy). We requested a booth and I sat on the same side as she; a little unusual and very romantic.

The waitress came over and asked if we wanted drinks. And if we were ready to order.

"We will order in just a moment. We need to decide, first. Almost there," I assured her.

The waitress left and the time came. Ashley did not know I was going to do any of this.

From my bag I pulled out two nipple clamps. Smaller clover clamps that had good springs and a bit of a bite to them. I am knowledgeable about clamps (having worn virtually every type hundreds of times), so I knew these would hurt but be bearable, especially after first application.

"I'd like you to put these on," I said to her, handing the clamps over.

She looked at me with big eyes, but obeyed. This is what I absolutely love about her. She may not like what I ask of her, but she obeys without questioning. If she were to say "I would rather not," or "no, please, Siobhan," I would withdraw the request. But she doesn't. She obeys.

She slid her right hand under her top from the waist, reaching up until it could cup her left breast. An awkward maneuver and one that was fairly visible to anyone that was looking over at the time. Her right hand went in from the top with the clamp.

Her fingers pulled and stretched her nipple out to prep it. Once the nipple was somewhat extended, she slipped on the clamp and let it close.

A sharp intake of breath announced the pain hitting; it wasn't bad but that first pinch always takes one by surprise. She grimaced slightly then withdrew her right hand under the blouse. Her left hand went in from below now, heading to her right breast, lifting and stretching her nipple, right hand going in from the top with the clamp which she slid onto the sensitive small nub of flesh, and once again releasing the clamp onto her nipple.

The tiny whimper she let out was a delight. It represented her obedience to me. I leaned over, kissed her cheek and told her so.

"I am proud to be seen with you, Ash. I love it when you suffer for me. It turns me on so much."

Ashley smiled and kissed me back. The pain in her nipples was subsiding but I knew it would nag her for the rest of the brunch.

The waitress came back up. Her eyes flicked over us, resting briefly on Ashley's chest. The knit top she was wearing wasn't tight, but the outline of the clamps could be seen. Ashley shifted in her seat and leaned forward a bit to try and hide them, though it helped only a little. It was clear something odd was going on around her nipples, and those who had the knowledge would identify it as clamps.

The waitress didn't miss a beat but simply asked what we'd like.

"I want breakfast, two eggs over easy, hash browns, fruit on the side, and an english muffin for bread," I said. "And an orange juice."

Ashley hesitated to order. Mostly because my right hand was burred between her legs and was massaging her jeans, right over her clit. It was distracting. She finally got it out.

"O... Oatmeal, please. And.. orange juice..."

The waitress nodded, eyes a bit wider than normal, and left.

Ashley's legs had spread for me and my fingers.

"Good girl," I said to her in a low voice. "Now, you reach inside and keep it going."

"What?" she said, looking at me with surprise. She wasn't disobeying, but was surprised and wanted to make sure I was actually telling her to do that.

"Yes, unbutton the top button, get your fingers inside there, and do it."

She took a deep breath and undid a button. She shoved her hand in, but after some effort it wouldn't go far enough, so she unzipped just a bit. Her hand went in, fingers crawling down, as I watched. When she hit the soft sensitive clit, she moaned very slightly.

"Fuck..."

"Keep going. I want you to cum."

Ashley pursed her lips and continued rubbing.

I knew she was also continuing to experience pain because of the nipple clamps. Not a lot, but enough to make it harder to have an orgasm.

Then again I know in my case, the extra stimulation, the pain of having my nipples squeezed and clamped actually helps me climax. Maybe the nipple pain would help her.

I reached over and flicked her right nipple clamp from outside the shirt. She moaned.

"That hurts." she said, controlling her voice. She was hurting and was working on getting an orgasm going at the same time.

"Yes, I know." I answered.

She slid her ass down a bit further in her seat. "Someone is going to see!" she said. She wasn't looking around, though. She was looking at the booth in front of her, eyes unfocused. Her fingers were working faster. One foot went up and pushed against the booth seat across from her.

"They already have," I noted. Two businessmen across and down the aisle from us were having lunch, and one of them had been staring. "That's part of what I want. I want you to put on a show for them. Let them know you are having an orgasm."

"Nooooo...." she said, but it was in a whisper and sounded more like a moan. Her hand was moving harder, faster.

I flicked her left nipple clamp, this time it had no effect on her. She was getting close.

That's when the waitress showed up with our food.

"OK... and here we have an oatmeal..."

"Right here," I said, pointing in front of Ashley. She had stopped rubbing, at least obviously. Her hand was still under the table, though, and she was slumped in the seat.

I got my food and as soon as the waitress left I took Ashley's hand out of her pants, and slid mine in.

"You eat. Let me." I said.

"Oh...." she sighed, sort of half out of it. She picked up a spoon and tried to eat.

She was really wet. It was easy to slip one finger inside her and use another to rub her clit. I played with it for a while then began rubbing for real.

Once I began for real her spoon no longer transported food to her mouth. She just sat there, staring at her oatmeal, trying her best not to make noise. My hand didn't move much, trapped by the denim of her jeans, but my fingers were rapidly rubbing, one finger sliding in and out of her about an inch.

Her thighs squeezed my hand a couple of times, in and out; this was a sign she was getting close. The businessman in the booth across the way was staring now, making no pretense that he wasn't observing. I leaned over and nuzzled Ashley, and that apparently pushed her over the edge.

Ashley's head leaned back, eyes closed, face toward the sky, mouth in an "O" and she gripped the edge of the table. A small squeak came from her open mouth, then a quiet gasp of air. Then another. Her legs seemed to be confused, unsure whether to squeeze tight against my hand, or spread open as far as they could.

Her body relaxed a bit and I slowed my movements, bringing the intense stimulation to an end.

Pulling my hand from her pants I licked them while staring at the businessman down the aisle. He gaped, completely taken aback. I thought I might have seen his erection forming, but he turned away.

"Can I take off the clamps, Siobhan?" she said.

"No. Leave them on for now. Let's finish. You've been an excellent girl, I am proud of you."

I kissed her on the lips and we went back to eating.

Later, getting into the car, she asked to remove the clamps again. "Please, Siobhan, they are really hurting. Can we please take them off?"

"Try to keep them on for a bit longer, dear. You are always more beautiful when suffering."

She was quiet on the way home, probably dealing with the deep ache that was her nipples, spreading into her breasts.

Once inside the house I gave her directions.

"Go to the bedroom and undress. Once you are naked, present yourself to me."

She nodded and did what she was told. Damn, I love an obedient submissive.

When she was completely naked she came out and knelt in front of me where I sat, her head down, hands on her knees.

"Good girl," I said and kissed the top of her head. "Show me your breasts," I added.

She raised her head and thrust out her chest slightly. The clamps hung from the poor, smashed nipples.

I reached out and carefully removed the one on her left nipple.

She cried out, grimacing and wincing, raising her shoulder and arm as if to protect herself, though the pain was actually from the clamp removal. I waited for her to recover from the pain.

I slowly removed the right clamp. Once again, Ashley cried out, whimpered and winced. It hurt like hell to take those clamps off after so long, I knew.

"Let me rub them," I offered and reached out, rubbing the sensitive nipples carefully., The process did help her feel a bit better, getting the blood moving.

Raising her face to look at me, I smiled and said, "good girl. I am proud of you, you took that so well. What are you to me?"

"I'm your little slut," she said happily.

There's real joy in her obedience. Love in her dedication and submission. Pleasure in her pain.

So now I have a problem. The name of this blog. If I keep on as the dominant, I can't call it Slave Bride, can I? Unless I marry the girl and make her my Slave Bride.

Actually, I don't think I am going to have that problem. I am going to see Jason tomorrow night, and it is looking to be fun, in a rather uncomfortable way.

Something on the Side

Since becoming single I've been more open to engaging with people in whatever way makes sense. Before I was controlled by Jason. I interacted normally with others on a day to day basis, but anything sexual or romantic had to at least be OK'd through him, and was usually prohibited unless he had arranged it.

I'll be a bit honest here, there were a couple of times that I engaged in sexual or romantic activity without his permission. Yeah. This was always with women. I'm bisexual, and frankly women hold a stronger romantic pull for me than men. Men are better in dominating me and giving me what I crave in the BDSM arena; women are what I want to sleep with and cuddle with.

With the loss of Jason's complete control I've suddenly been more open about playing with others in many different capacities. It started with Estelle (the hotel maid) who cooperated with me a bit on my self bondage. It has expanded to encompass more activities and persons. One such person has been Seth.

My connection with Seth started out very vanilla but we both rapidly became aware of how our interests were similar. That is, he was experienced in dominating and, well, torturing women. I am experienced in being tied up and hurt. The result? Me, tied up and punished in uncomfortable ways. I like him because he listens to me and understands me. We've not had much in the way of sessions, but enough for me to see I can trust him.

That said, it's a bit scary because he sometimes listens and understands me... LOL... as in he hears what my fears are and just loves to pull them out and use them on me. Bastard. ("Let's tip this table down under your head, raise your feet. See if you can withstand a bit of waterboarding..."  fuck...).

Anyway, getting to the episode I am writing about. I had been a bit of a brat during a session with him and mouthed off; teasing him. (It may not come across in these postings, but I am actually a bit of a bitch. Then again... maybe it does.)

I then actually suggested a potential punishment to him. "You should make me type you an apology on a computer keyboard with my nose." (It was a joke, but those are risky around this particular guy).

Stupid me. He listened and took me up on my offer. He was traveling on business when sent me the challenge.

"Very well. Except I expect a little more. You must type the apology. Your mouth must be gagged with your panties while you type. Urine soaked panties."

"What..." I was a bit at a loss. He had taken my idea which actually would have been pretty simple and turned it into a real punishment.

"Cuff your hands behind your back, to prevent any inadvertent cheating. Make sure you are completely naked while doing your penance. Oh, and to make it a bit easier, you may insert a pencil or stylus into your mouth for the typing."

That was the challenge. I wasn't sure I was going to do it. We might not get together for a session for a while, he might just let it blow over. Or take it out of my hide later.

What made me decide was being depressed. Things in my life were just shitty. I felt alone, rejected, empty, heart broken. Not just by Jason but from some attempted advances with some girls that were not working out.

So, rather than sit at home depressed I decided to perform the task. I will leave it to others such as yourself to judge whether my craving for bondage and domination is a broader attempt to cope with burdensome depression.

I came home a bit late, I had spent some time at a friends. Coming home I was reminded of this task. I decided to do it. I needed something to focus on besides fucking heartbreak.

So I stripped down to my panties, massaged myself between my legs for a bit (on top of the panties) to get myself ready, and then went into the toilet. I straddled a bit, then let loose while still wearing the panties. Once they were wet, I removed them, and finished peeing.

Taking the panties in two fingers (as if not getting urine on my fingers was meaningful, given I was about to stuff them into my mouth), I stepped into the main bathroom area in front of the mirror.

I must admit there were small parts of the panties that were dry, and I tried to roll them up in a way that exposed the dry spots to the outside, the urine parts on the inside. Staring into the mirror I saw my naked form holding panties that looked wet. I considered myself. I was sexy, I supposed.

Watching myself in the mirror I opened my mouth wide and inserted the panties into my mouth. They didn't go in cleanly, they never do. To get panties into the mouth you have to push it in bit by bit, stuffing and compressing as you go. That destroyed any attempt I made to put the urine soaked part on the inside.

Basically once I had the panties in the urine was seeping out and covering the inside of my mouth and I could taste it as if I was drinking it. Except if you drink urine it passes into your stomach and that's it. Urine soaked panties just sort of... lay there... spreading the taste and disgustingness around... continuously. My cheeks bulged like a chipmunk as I watched myself in the mirror.

I had prepared a pencil before but observed (the the panties in my mouth slowly seeping urine) that it was sharp on the end I planned to put into my mouth. I broke it in half, which was OK, as it made it a bit shorter and more stable.

I shoved it into my mouth, which caused a problem because the panties were there. The thing needed to be far enough inside to not fall out or wobble too much. And I was already beginning to regret my decision to actually perform this task.

So... I pulled the panties out, Wrapped the pencil sort of in the middle, then repacked my panties in my mouth, trying to get it just right with the pencil already in the wad. Took a little effort, but worked. And the urine continued to seep. Just... gross.

Then there was the problem of the tape. It's easy to duct tape one's mouth. But when you have a pencil hanging out of it... well, it is a bit problematic. It took more than just one strip of tape, in fact it took about 10. One thing about duct-taping one's mouth but short strips just extending to the side of the mouth or cheeks don't always cut it. Movement of the jaw and cheek flesh can loosen the tape and it is no longer secure. So ... had to wrap it around the back of my head at least once, in this case twice, once above and once below the pencil.

The whole process took a lot longer than I had thought. When I was done I surveyed myself in the mirror, a naked brunette with really nice hair cascading over her soft shoulders to round, seductive breasts, tightly gagged with duct tape, cheeks bulging and looking annoyed.

With my urine seeping into my throat so that I could not only taste it I could smell it, I moved to the bedroom.

My laptop went on the bed, open, and I logged in and brought up email. Opened a new email. All ready to go I took a set of standard cuffs I keep in a bedside drawer (always ready, aren't I?) and cuffed my wrists behind my back. The key was on the bedside stand along with a collection of other junk (dildo, glass butt plug, a detective novel, worn copy of the necronomicon, a flashlight, one nipple clamp (where's the other one?), alarm clock, bible, back scratcher, ok... I have an incredibly messy bedside table).

I knelt on the floor next to the bed, leaned over to the keyboard. The bottom of my breasts brushed the sheets lightly. I was aroused but couldn't do anything about it, my wrists were cuffed behind.

Typing began.

I apologize for being rude and will do better in the future. I exist only for your pleasure.

It went so damn slowly. I immediately realized I wasn't going to be capitalizing. I wondered if he would accept it without capitalization, but decided instantly it didn't matter, I wasn't going to be pushing caps lock over and over.

apologize for being rude and will do better in the future i exist only for your pleasure

At first I really tried to get spelling right. The rubber eraser end of the pencil slipped if I pushed too hard and pressed the key next to it, so I had to keep the angle just right and not push too hard.  Turned out this was an unexpected strain on the neck. I had to take breaks to keep my neck from cramping.

apologizeri for being rude and will do better in the future ui exist only forour pleasure

I had also not tied my hair into a pony before hand, a big mistake. It hung down during the entire operation and began to become annoying. I considered unlocking my cuffs and putting my hair back, but then decided it would be a violation of the spirit of the punishment, if not the letter. Punishment is nothing if not uncomfortable, you know?

iapologize for beinrude and well do better n the future i e exist only for your pleasriw

Like I said, it took forever. I think perhaps two hours to do all that I did. My knees started hurting from kneeling, and my back ached as well as my neck. All unexpected side effects. Cloth gags like panties soak up saliva so in spite of the urine in my mouth it felt dry in there, and it seemed like my entire bedroom smelled of urine because no matter were I went I smelled it.

Frustration levels peaked. Two hours on my knees, breathing and tasting urine, typing the same thing over and over again with a pencil, hands cuffed and unable to masturbate... it got to me. I had lost count and finally decided (and typed):

fuckit

I unlocked the cuffs, ripped the tape off and pulled the panties out. *WHEW*. I typed his email address in the email (with my fingers) and sent it.

He was going to whip my ass later for poor quality and frankly that was fine.

I rinsed my mouth a dozen times, gargled, and went to bed. I masturbated in bed, laying on my back, legs spread wide, eyes closed. My preferred method of masturbation is with fingers, primarily my left hand (even though I am right handed). Sometimes I will apply nipple clamps while masturbating (thus the bedside clamp).

All in all the exercise worked. From the moment I sat on the toilet and peed in my panties, to the point I drifted off to a satisfied sleep with the relaxation of a very nice orgasm, I forgot my personal problems and personal heartache. It came back the next day and I felt like crying, but at least that night I was miserable for different reasons (ones I sort of enjoyed).