Kidnap Memories: Part 2

This is a continuation of a post I made a while back; my girlfriend was out with her own dominatrix and I was alone masturbating in bed. When I masturbate, I tend to think about past lovers, past situations, and this time I was remembering the first time I'd done a weekend kidnap scene. The post turned out to be too long. So, here's the second half of it. Yes, I had to get along and masturbate and relive the memories in order to remember it properly. Believe it or not, masturbating helps me remember the details of my previous kink encounters.

Eric and Emma. A married couple. Eric was a rope artist, fairly good at what he did. Emma was a sub who loved kink and to be tied up. A good match, and they got married and were happy, as far as I know. They went on to expand their kink to generate porn for sale and make some money out of it. My experience with them was just as they were thinking of doing that but hadn't actually started a business yet.

In my earlier post I described how I had hooked up with Eric because he was a good rope artist and I rather enjoyed having scenes with him. He offered me money for a photoshoot, and then asked if I'd like to do a weekend-long kidnap scene. I was skeptical about both, but finally agreed.

Back to the scene. I'd been Eric and Emma's kidnapped sex slave for a day now, and spent the night sleeping in a closet. My wrists tied behind my back, a collar and leash locked on and fastened to the closet. And most annoyingly, a heavy cloth sack over my head.

I could breathe, but the air was stale and stuffy and getting fresh air was a chore. And of course I could see nothing. Sleeping in the close it was completely dark, of course, but the sack made it psychologically worse.

As it turned out, the threat of having my head sacked became one of the most effective threats and tools Eric used while keeping me in his house. If I gave him a hard time about something, all he had to say was "do you need me to put the sack back on?" and I'd become immediately compliant.

I didn't care what he did to me, as long as my head wasn't in the sack. Especially after that night. No sack. Please.

There was a bucket in the closet for me to pee and poop in, and the entire closet had newspaper laid down. Yeah, it felt like I was a locked up hamster or other pet.

Morning came after a night of fitful attempts to sleep, and the closet door was opened. Eric removed my hood and I gasped clean, fresh air and shook my hair out.

"Thank you," I said, grateful.

"Sure," Eric responded. "Time for you to contribute to the household."

He unlocked my leash and led me to the bathroom. I knew what was coming, and I bet it had been Emma's idea. Eric loved having a sex slave to fuck at will and keep tied up. Emma was going to take advantage and make me do some of her cleaning.

"Here," Emma said. She provided a brush, some rags, a cloth and a toothbrush. "This tile floor really needs some heavy cleaning, especially in the cracks. I want that floor shining and the grout cleaned."

This was not exactly what I had envisioned as a sex slave for a weekend. On the other hand, I had made the mistake of not really thinking what I was doing through. I wanted the money, which would more than pay for a month's rent (at the time). 

But there I was, hands and knees, scrubbing a kitchen floor, naked. Tied up, able to move in limited ways.

I hadn't really had one orgasm yet. My mistake, I guess, but I had envisioned a weekend of debauchery in which I would be given multiple orgasms while tied up. 

Yeah, Eric had gotten a couple of good orgasms out of this, but me? Not one. 

I grumbled and complained while I was on the floor scrubbing. To my credit, I did in fact try to do a good job.

Eric took a number of photos of me humiliated and scrubbing a floor naked. Back then I had a body to die for (my body is still pretty good, though age has taken its toll). So I knew the photos were going to come out nicely, and actually sort of posed for them while working. 

You know, spreading my legs, making sure my arm was out of the way to catch my boob hanging down, sucking my stomach in, or turning my face toward the camera.

But all in all this was tedious work and not what I had signed up for.

I made this opinion clear with my grumblings, which got louder as I worked.

Finally Eric had enough and jerked the chain on my collar.

"Get up, bitch. You can't even perform a simple menial task without being a complete bitch and moaning and groaning. I will give you something to moan about."

"Wait... no... please, Eric, I will do a better job." I began scrubbing harder and faster.

"I told you to stop calling me that! It's master, you worm! And you are going to learn that!"

The hood went on before I saw it coming. The burlap sack over my head. Damn I hated that thing.

"No, please, Master, I will do as you ask! I will be good!"

I meant this, too. I knew down deep I was in deep shit with him and Emma and was under his control, at least for the day. I was in and out of subspace, but whenever Eric got intense, I slipped into subspace and truly tried to be subservient. 

Pulled along with my leash and chain, I followed, bumping into a few things along the way as I could see nothing and Eric wasn't being especially careful. I swore a couple of times when I banged shins (I can have a nasty mouth).

I didn't know where he had me at first, I couldn't tell. It turned out I was in the garage; figured that out because of the large, echoing sound. 

"Always wanted to try this, you gave me a reason to do it," Eric growled as I stood, disoriented. He grabbed the sack on my head and pulled it off, smoothing my ruffled hair afterward. He was nice like that. I am sure he did it because he wanted me to look good for the photos he'd be taking.

He grabbed my wrists and quickly tied them behind me. One thing about Eric, he could do simple ties incredibly fast. My wrists were tightly secured behind my back in a few seconds.

That was normal, but what followed was something new to me.

Remember, I was only about 19 at the time. I'd been doing bondage of one sort or another for four, maybe five years, but a lot was self bondage and the rest was relatively simple. Eric was the master and the best I had ever encountered at that point of my life.

So when he attached something to my wrist tie and it began pulling my wrists up behind me, it was a new experience. Strappado. I don't think I had even heard the word at that point in my life, but was getting a practical demonstration of it.

At first it was just slightly uncomfortable, and a new position (which I sort of liked).

As my wrists went higher (we was pulling a rope through an eye bolt, he hadn't gotten sophisticated enough for pulleys at that point in life), my shoulders started complaining and I began grunting. 

The natural thing to do when in strappado is to lean forward. Everyone does it. Can't help but do it, really. So I did. 

"Ah... ah... AH...." I was making noise as my wrists went higher and I bent over until my body was parallel to the floor and my boobs were hanging down. Thank god he stopped there.

"A perfect position, don't you think?" Eric said, gently rubbing my ass with his hand, slipping fingers between the ass cheeks and finding my cunt.

It was true, I was stuck in a bent over position and there was little I could do about it.

I had to admit to myself, this was new and fun. I loved being restricted and tied in new positions and this was new and unique. Forced to bend over, unable to escape, helpless and available. Down deep, I wanted him to take advantage of me, to finger me.

He had other ideas. Something was stuck in front of my face. 

"Kiss the cane," he said.

It was a cane. I had felt them a couple of times before, they hurt like hell. I kissed it, knowing I'd soon be in pain from it.

Once kissed, the cane made its way behind me and I lost track of it.

Until I felt it slapping against my ass. The sting was unexpected and strong. I yelped.

"Count," Eric said.

"One!" I cried.

The cane stroked against my ass again, and again.

"Two!"  "Three!"  "Four!"  "How many, Master, Please no more!"

"Ten," Eric said and continued.

Canings can leave nasty welts. I'd never experienced a significant caning before (I'd gotten a few mild strokes from a boyfriend, enough to learn respect for them). My ass was on fire and I knew this was worse than a lot of punishments I'd received. I begged, truly begged for him to stop. I meant what I was begging for. 

"Ten!" I finally called out and the caning was over. It could have been much worse and I know now (having experienced much worse) that Eric was going really easy on me. At the time though, I was crying and felt like I wouldn't be able to sit down for a month. My ass, which I saw about a day later, was covered with welts, but they weren't bad ones.

He left the room. I remained in the bent over position, the fire in my ass slowly subsiding, waiting for his return. This is one of the things I hate and love the most about bondage. To be tied up helpless, in an uncomfortable position, and simply left. Ignored. My plight something I just need to suffer through.

I struggled with the wrist tie for a little, though it was pointless. Eric was too good with rope. I moved back and forth, shifting around, but nothing really relieved my position. 

It was not long, maybe ten minutes, before Eric came back, but it seemed a lot longer.

"I think you owe me a blow job," he said.

"Yes, sir," I answered. I'd learned my lesson. 

He dropped his pants and raised his T-shirt. His cock sort of bounced out, it was hard and ready.

Frankly, that's my experience with most cocks I see for the first time. They are usually hard and ready by the time I am presented with them. I seldom have to take a soft cock into my mouth, unless the guy has already cum once and I am trying to get him back up.

This was maybe the fifth or sixth time I'd had Eric's cock in my mouth and it was familiar by then. I knew how to get him off, and did my best. He didn't cum as fast as I wished he would, but he came.

He came on my face, not in my mouth. If he'd cum in my mouth I would have just spit it out on the floor beneath me. I hated swallowing (still hate it, as a matter of fact).

I don't know how long I was in strappado but it must have been a while because the day had advanced quite a bit by the time he lowered my wrists.

"OK, I've always wanted to try something, and you are the perfect candidate," Eric said. He had a table with a lot of his rope gear to the side of the garage. I think he played with Emma in there at times. Emma got tied up a lot.

Eric got some of his best rope out, conditioned, flexible stuff in a long, long length. (To this day I admire guys with good rope skills.)

"So babe, listen. This is new so I am going to trust you to tell me if it gets too much. OK? I am listening." Eric was being straight with me. I was doing his rope artist thing, where he was making sure his model was OK. This is one reason I trusted him and agreed to let him disable me and abuse me in limited ways-- I knew he took this seriously and was not just having fun, he was also looking out for me.

I nodded. "OK." Giving my consent.

I have somewhat large boobs. They aren't huge, but they are definitely on the larger side. Perfect for guys tying them up. Balloon boobs. Forcing them out into big round bulbous blobs in front of my chest. 

That's what Eric did. He wrapped one end of the rope around one of my boobs; this was first for me. I mean, I'd had rope around my chest before, but this was the first time a guy had specifically wrapped rope around my boob to make it blob out like a balloon.

It was tight, but it didn't hurt terribly. 

Once he'd wrapped my left boob, he did the right one. I was a strange feeling, a new sensation for me (something I value). 

OK, so there is one thing no guy can resist when they have a naked women tied up with her tits tied and bulging. They absolutely have to slap them.

Yes, there are some truisms, some rituals and things you can't escape if you are going to be a rope sub. If your boobs get tied, they will be slapped. It's a rule.

So Eric slapped them. 

He didn't beat them, or cane them, or burn them or clamp them or whip them, all of which has happened to them since. No, he simply played around with them like they were a kid's beach balls and slapped them around.

It was funny, actually, watching him play with them. 

It was also mildly painful, just some slapping, but no big deal.

His play time was broken up by Emma coming in and looking at what he was doing with a frown.

"Having fun with the sex slave?" She asked.

Eric smiled happily.

"Don't forget, half the reason she is here is to get some good photos," she added. "In fact, let me get the camera."

Eric slapped me a few more times. Emma came back and began taking photos of me standing in place with my boobs bulging like balloons.

To tell you the truth, having bound, bulbous breasts is sort of humiliating. I am not sure why, it's just the idea that someone has taken part of my body and has tied it up to make it into some sort of plaything. I just... I don't feel sexy with balloon boobs. 

Emma actually told Eric to get me back up into strappado so she could get some photos, so up my wrists went, bending me over. This time with bound breasts.

He pulled my arms up enough it was straining my shoulders and hurt some. The look on my face (of pain) made Eric happy and Emma took photos then told him to put me back down. She was all in for torturing and using me, but she was a lot more mild than Eric.

Once that was done, I was standing in place again, boobs still tied.

I'd been on my feet for well over an hour, maybe two or two and a half. It was hard keeping track of time. I do know that Emma went grocery shopping and returned while I was strung up in the garage. Their life continued as normal as their sex slave suffered.

My boobs were also sort of pounding, like, I could feel they were pulsing with my heartbeat. It wasn't bad, but indicated they were having trouble getting good blood flow.

"Master, may I be released?" I asked politely.

"I want to try something first. Again, babe... I am new to this and will be careful. You need to tell me if it gets too intense."

I sighed. "Fine."

Consent given.

The ropes around my boobs went up into the air and through the eye bolts above me. 

Uh oh... he was going to pull them up. Like... was he going to suspend me from my breasts? Naahhh.... was that a thing? You couldn't do that, could you? 

Honestly, at 19 I had never experienced that and didn't think it was possible. So I figured he was just going to put some weights on them or something.

He pulled me up. The pressure on my breasts got intense. My wrists were tied behind my back. There was nothing I could do alleviate the pressure. The flesh to the side of my breasts pulled and stretched. The boobs pulsed. 

I stood on tiptoe.

"OK, that's... "

Eric stopped there and checked on me. "Is it hurting?"

"Well it sure doesn't feel good," I snapped at him. 

"But does it feel like a muscle is going to be pulled or flesh ripped?"

Sighing I shook my head. I wasn't going to pull the plug on this activity... yet.

He pulled up some more. I was on the balls of my feet and a lot of my weight was on my boobs. I looked at them, they were purple. I shuddered. It hurt. I wondered if my boobs could actually pop. I didn't think so. Damn, it hurt. Not as bad as the caning though. Weird.

"Take her down," Emma said. Eric lowered me. Blood flooded back into my breasts. The pain subsided

"Tie her arms up there so she can help support herself with her hands."

Dammit, Emma wasn't actually telling him to stop, she was telling him to change how I was tied. Making it less likely for me to actually damage myself so he could continue the suspension.

So, Eric undid my wrists and tied them again in front of me, then slipped the rope through an eye bolt above me and lifted me up. He pulled me up by my wrists until I was truly on my tip-toes.

He then pulled on my breast ropes until almost all my weight was on them.

My hands were right next to the rope that was tied around my wrists. My weight was increasingly on my breasts until I felt like I was hanging from them.

To compensate, I grabbed the rope around my wrists and lifted myself up with my arms.

I admit, I am not and was not a super fit girl that can do endless pull-ups. I tried the best I could to lift myself up and it relieved the pressure on my boobs but oh god, there was a limit. After a minute I let go and sank down, all my body weight going to my breasts.

Thirty seconds later I was hauling myself up again to give my breasts a rest.

This up and down motion continued for a few minutes, during which I became more and more distressed. Emma was taking photos as fast as possible, including ones of my agonized face. Eric would occasionally feel me up, hands on my tight breasts or between my legs. I ignored all of this, just trying to cope with the situation.

It was increasingly becoming miserable. At that age I hadn't acquired some of the toughness that I have now, and I just was falling apart. Tears were streaming and I began begging to be let down.

With other things, Eric would ignore me begging, but with this he immediately lowered me.

I've done breasts suspensions since then, and understand them a lot better. Back then I was just emotionally overwhelmed by what was going on. The mental anguish was as bad as the pain (which wasn't actually as bad as many other things I've endured).

Eric lowered me to the floor and both he and Emma came over and cuddled with me. Eric isn't good at aftercare, but Emma is and I needed it then. I had been suffering mentally over my experience that afternoon as much as I had ever mentally suffered. (Including the time I was hit by boyfriends).

I was still collared and leashed but right then I was completely unsecured and could have gotten up and walked out. No locks except on the collar, which wouldn't have stopped me leaving. 

But I didn't even think about it. I was there to suffer and be their sex toy, and my mind had accepted that. And they were being kind to me, caring for me after I had suffered. I didn't want to leave.

Things changed a bit after this. The couple took me to their bedroom. I was still their sex slave, but things got a little less intense.

I was chained to their bed. They had a bed with bondage accessories like four posts and anchor points for chains or ropes (they were a very kinky couple). My leash was locked to the bed but otherwise I was allowed to move about freely on a six foot chain.

I took a nap.

Yeah, that was the best I could do. I was on a comfortable bed for the first time since my kidnapping and the husband / wife team left me there to go do whatever they did on a weekend. My body ached from being tied up and caned and suspended and I simply lay back and fell asleep.

Another thing about being kidnapped and kept as a sex slave for a weekend-- you can't actually have sex the entire weekend. My captors had work to do, they paid bills, went shopping, even watched a TV show or two. 

My time on their bed was wonderful, but it ended, as all things do. Eric came in and unlocked my leash, leading me to a closet for 'storage'. 

Tied, secured to the wall and gagged, the door shut on me and I was in the dark again.

Subspace flooded over me and I sank down, waiting for my master.

I'd been in captivity only for a day and a half, but in that time my old life had receded and all that was around me was the closet, my tied and secured arms and legs, the gag, my master and the desire to please him, my mistress and my feelings of gratitude toward her for tempering the more sadistic leanings of my master.

I was fed and watered. I peed in the bucket. I lay as best I could (my collar and leash were secured high enough so I couldn't actually lie down).

Several hours later Eric came in and said, "time to join us for a threesome."

I obediently stood and allowed him to lead me into the bedroom. The idea of the threesome was actually rather arousing for me. I'd sucked Eric a couple of times and been fucked by him but this held promise-- I could be part of the threesome.

Emma is a good looking woman. She was maybe eight years older than me at the time, but in very good shape and experienced.

My collar remained on and I was chained to the bed with a lengthy chain that allowed lots of leeway. If I tried to run I wouldn't make it to the door, but I could go anywhere on the bed I liked. My wrists and ankles had cuffs on them, which Eric used occasionally to lock me up, but most of the time I was free to move.

"Time to service Emma," Eric announced. Emma was stripping and crawling onto the bed with me. She looked like she was excited to be naked with me in bed. I knew Emma wasn't lesbian and even her bisexual interests were limited. She was mostly straight. But in the right circumstances, she could enjoy being with a woman, and I guess this was one of them. 

At 19 I had gained some experience with women, including having had a girlfriend for a few months in high school. I considered myself straight (that changed over time) but enjoyed being with anyone attractive, regardless of sex. 

So I dove right in when Emma spread her legs for me. 

It was a delight. Pure enjoyment to crawl in, feel my tongue press against the soft folds of her pussy, to lick her and see her react in pleasure, to taste her as her vagina lubricated itself. 

I felt Eric's face between my legs and spread them to allow him access as I continued with Emma. He licked and readied me for a while (I was already dripping wet), then I felt him enter me.

His thrusts pushed my body and head up and down and I simply converted that movement to a rhythm licking Emma. 

Apparently I was good, because Emma was moaning and grunting and grabbed my head and was totally into it. It felt good to have Eric's cock thrusting into me as well, I liked being fucked. I like the sensation of being penetrated, I get off on the thrusting, the force that is used to ram into me, and if the angle is right the stimulation can really feel fantastic.

This was like... the second set of people I'd had a threesome with in my life at that point, and it was new and a lot of fun. I still felt a bit like a slave, but at this point it was really fun being a sex slave and being used to satisfy this couple's sexual cravings.

Eric had cum earlier, so he wasn't cumming quickly and pulled out to switch positions.

He went to Emma and began fucking her. My own pussy juices were covering his dick, as well as my saliva on her pussy and it was sort of kinky thinking about his pushing his cock into her pussy with my body fluids providing all the lube.

Eric and Emma were made for each other, I could tell that. The two of them fucked like they were one organism. She was moaning and shuddering, I think she was having an orgasm, maybe two, as Eric thrust into her. 

I tried to help, kissing Emma and reaching down to stimulate her clit. (One of the things about sex with a guy is I need direct clit stimulation to cum, and that doesn't happen in most positions with a guy, so I stimulate my clit directly with my fingers during sex). 

It was incredibly rewarding to see Emma shudder with her mouth in an O and cry out as she definitely came.

I had been conditioned for the last couple of days to be totally subservient and to obey my master, and this feeling slid easily into the desire to make both of them orgasm. To use my body, my skills, to pleasure them. When I saw and felt Emma climax, I almost climaxed myself.

Eric secured my wrists to give me a feeling of being restrained (the collar and chain prevented me from leaving but I didn't actually feel restrained). It didn't slow us down much. Yes, I couldn't use my hands as easily, but that was OK. I could use my mouth and cunt and breasts and ass and I used them all with both Emma and Eric.

I have to admit I focused more on Emma, at least mentally. Eric could take care of himself. He had the cock and stuck it into whatever hole he wanted as we writhed together, the three of us. At one point he pushed it into my mouth and I could taste the shit from Emma's ass, which it had been just before.  That was a bit of a surprise, but things were just flowing and so intense I didn't let it stop me and just sucked him off.

Eventually we ended up in an Eiffel Tower position (I didn't know it had that name back then), with me sitting on Eric's cock, riding it, and Emma on his face. She reached down and was rubbing my clit as I moved up and down and I came. A mind blowing orgasm, I shuddered, cried out, clutched for Emma and ground down on Eric's cock to feel it go as deep inside as it could go.

It was the first of two amazing orgasms I had that evening, the second being when Eric was in my ass and Emma was licking my clit.

Yeah. That was the day I decided I could go for a threesome. It really depended on who it was, (as with most things sexual), but given the right circumstances, I could do a MFF without hesitation.

Late that night I was put away. I was a sex slave, after all, not on an equal par with either Emma or Eric. They'd let me sleep in the bed earlier, but they drew a line and weren't going to let me share their bed at night.

So I went into the closet again. The second night. It was somewhat familiar this time, I'd been there before.

I would have masturbated in the closet, but Eric had strapped my arms behind me. I did find something to rub my clit on but never reached orgasm.

I had food and water in the closet and a buck for pee and the newspaper on the floor to make sure I didn't splatter on the flooring. Sleep came more easily and while it was uncomfortable that night, I still got a few hours in before Eric opened the door and let light in the next morning.

"Release day," he announced. With his help I managed to get up (my legs were sort of cramped from not being able to stretch out all night) and walk out to the dining room where breakfast was waiting. 

He removed my gag and had me sit down.

"We got some really good photos, take a look." He began to show me the photos he and Emma had taken. I was to be paid $500 for these.

It turned out Emma was really the photographer and Eric was the rigger in the family. Her photos were good.

It was strange though. I'd let a couple of boyfriends take nudies of me in the past, but these were ore professional, and when I looked at them I realized these were maybe, possibly, going to be sold and seen and masturbated to by countless men. It gave me very mixed feelings. But it was done. I wanted the money.

We had breakfast together. I was still naked while Eric and Emma were clothed; I was still wearing a collar and leash and wrist and ankle cuffs. It very much reminded me of my place.

Finally Eric had me get dressed.

"I have a present for you," he said. "A thank you for this weekend."

"Cool," I said, happy to accept whatever he would give me.

It started with a $500 check. There was a sense of satisfaction in that, though at the same time I wondered if I was being short changed. It seemed worth more to have my cunt and boobs permanently captured and spread out and sold for ever. That $500 bucks would last a couple of months and be gone. The images they had taken would live on for a long time.

I was wearing a dress I had left there earlier, not the clothes I had been kidnapped in.

Eric proceeded to unlock me, remove my collar, but he replaced it with some transport restraints of a sort. Shackles. Metal chains that locked my ankles and wrists; enough length I could walk but not run and my wrists were still shackled behind me. 

We walked out to his car. I had this strange sense of melancholy. I had been part of his household, a sex slave, dependent and subservient to him for two days. It felt wistful... going back to my old life.

We drove to my neighborhood (I actually lived in a different city than Eric). He stopped two blocks away from my apartment.

"The key to your shackles is under the potted plant in front of your door. The shackles are my gift to you, a thank you for being my sex slave. Let's do it again sometime."

I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"Maybe," I said and got out of the car. Walking down the street in shackles felt weird and was sort of a parting humiliation from Eric. Yes, several people stared, one woman asked if I was OK and needed help, ('No, I am fine, thanks"), and sure enough the key was under the pot.

I removed the shackles and went inside, took a shower, and collapsed on the bed. 

Apparently I had a rather strong "freshly fucked" face when I arrived at work the next morning. A couple of the guys commented ('oh, you got some over the weekend, eh?').

The shacks were were worth about $100, which made them a decent gift and I still have them in my toy drawer.

(Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent).