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).

Going Pro

It is a lot harder to find a good BDSM partner and master than one might think.

There are plenty of people out there. Guys that think they want to dominate. Even women that want it. I learned a long, long time ago there is a difference from some guy just being mean and domineering and someone being dominant and using bondage and discipline as part of daily life.

I don't want to get into a situation where I just get slapped around and punched. Been there, done that.

I also don't want to get hooked up with a guy who treats me as a "little" or some sort of pet on a leash. I don't mind leashes and collars. But I am not a girl that needs to run around wearing cute kitten ears and wearing a butt plug tail.

And of course there are standards in terms of looks, success, location, age, fitness, and the like.

When it all comes together, it is not easy to find someone that matches me. It's why Jason was so perfect (do I sound like a parrot here?).

So... yeah. I've done a few things in the meantime. First, I've been re-establishing things with Jason. The divorce is going through and we are working out a fair split (he didn't have to give me anything according to the prenup). Second, I have played with a guy I know about an hour drive away who is very active with a number of people as a master. Third, I've re-engaged with an outfit that I actually did some BDSM porn for a long time ago.

Self bondage has been an option of last resort, and is good to keep me going. I can do some rather complex stuff at home now with straps, rope, locks and keys, timers, etc.

Lastly, I've been with Erin. She has done her best to support me, but she's a mistress and it isn't always easy for her to treat me like a girlfriend and let me cry on her shoulder. So, we've tried some submissive stuff.

She's a great mistress and I am totally bi, and this arrangement has worked. Erin knows how to dominate me, restrain me, humiliate me, make me service her, and just in general make me into a blubbering submissive slave in total subspace.

The only problem is that Erin is married and devoted to her husband/slave. I can be nothing but temporary unless I am willing to fit in with them as a threesome. That would probably mean my being submissive to Jim as well. I could deal with that. But in general, Erin doesn't actually have that much time for me.

Interestingly, the best experience of all of these options has been the porn outfit. They are pros. They know how to tie a knot, how to suspend a body, how to invoke a lot of pain without doing permanent damage. All in a rather humiliating way with cameras and riggers hanging around watching me drool and suffer. And those doms really don't care much about the girls; they are there to do a job-- and you are too, and you better just hang there and take it and cry while it is happening, or you don't get paid.

The pros will also do things no one else can because they have the equipment and space and experience.

I was a little worried they wouldn't cast me / hire me, because I am a lot older than when I did it before. I am into my 30s and most of the girls are in their early 20s. Turns out I guess I still have the body and the looks; that combined with the fact I am willing to do some intense stuff... they said OK after I sent photos and filled out the questionnaire about what I was willing to do. Which was a lot.

So this outfit I did some stuff for, they are not local. I had to fly out there for sessions. Did you know these guys don't usually work on weekends? I had to actually take time off from work to fly all the way across the country and spend a day filming.

I won't go into a long detail of everything they did to me (I know, I know, some people are asking why noootttt????). So much of it is standard stuff. Hogtie, ring gag. Dildo-on-a-pole shoved up my cunt. Then into my mouth. Then back to my cunt. Then my mouth. Then chain me to a whipping post and whip the fuck out of my ass.

The one thing that we did was something I have always fantasized about. Crucifixion. I know, it is a weird fantasy, but ever since I got into heavy bondage I had always viewed crucifixion as the ultimate. Bound, exposed, hanging, humiliated, in endurance bondage that just slowly gets more and more painful, but there is absolutely nothing you can do. It's the ultimate of what I want and need out of bondage.

I had the opportunity and was crucified many years ago, but the action was limited and I was looking for something a bit more intense or realistic. I mean, crucifixion is just hanging by your arms, really, and I had done that any number of times. But actually doing the whole suffering on the cross outside thing-- it was something I wanted to explore and I asked them if they had ever done it.

Of course they had, but were always willing to give it a try again. HA.

So after the first filming when they decided I was actually a pain slut, which I am, they decided to go ahead with an investment in a crucifixion.

It was scheduled for a few weeks after my first day with them (which left me with bruises and sore tits for a week... hey, I asked for it).

So the filming was done in North Carolina, out in the woods. It was gorgeous in the forest. They were using the house of a friend that backed up to some land (I didn't ask if they owned the land, I bet they didn't).

Crucifixions actually can be kind of boring for the observer. They are a form of endurance bondage, which can be great fun (or misery) for the participants, but observers can get bored. So they filmed some action before hand. I stripped down and they hung be from the ceiling and whipped my ass and fucked my cunt with a dildo. The flogger they used hurt like hell, but nothing I hadn't taken before. The dildo left me feeling stretched and sore, but they at least used a condom that was lubed on it.

The process of being tied to the cross was a little surprising for me. They threw me on the ground and put the cross on my back. They then grabbed my arms and pulled them backwards over the crossbeam that was laying on my shoulders, and did a really good job of tying my wrists together and to the crossbeam. So I wasn't going to be crucified with my arms outstretched, which is what I assumed.

Any change in expectations like that can make one very nervous about the unknown. That nervousness is exactly what gets me off, because it pushes my helplessness in my face. They could literally kill me at that point and there would be nothing I could do about it.

They used a whip on my back and legs to get me moving. It stung and was a pretty good motivator. I stood up, lifting the damned heavy cross I was now tied to and began dragging it. They had two cameras filming me, and they must have captured every agonizing step I took.

Yeah, I was completely naked. It was in the hills of NC and in the early fall; the temperatures were cool and without clothes I was cold. And the hills of NC are not made for just walking on with bare feet.

This was much closer to the miserable submission to crucifixion I had in mind than my previous experiences.

They kept whipping me as I walked along, picking my way as best I could across the rough land. I had no idea how far or where I was going, but at least the exertion of pulling that heavy cross was keeping me warmer.

I stumbled at least once on the way, landing flat on my stomach with that wood monstrosity on my back. The sadist in control of this was just pleased as punch when I did that, it gave him an excuse to whip me harder, which in term motivated me to get up and keep walking.

It wasn't that far. Maybe five or ten minutes walk (dragging a heavy wooden cross), but it seemed like we were deep in the woods. They could hang my body out there and let me die and no one would ever know. They finally told me to stop and I collapsed onto the ground with the heavy wood thing pushing me down. I couldn't keep it up any longer. It felt good to rest.

There was a hole in the ground near by. Not a big one, but deep. I lay on the ground, arms tied to the cross, unable to really move anywhere and waited.

The sadist grabbed my feet and tied my ankles together, then looped the rope around the cross. Another very secure tie, and my knees were bent (in true crux victim form).

They stopped filming because it took the whole crew to lift me and the cross up and get it into the hole. By then I was tied up securely and couldn't help anyone with anything. I was attached to that damn cross and had no choice but to simply get lifted and moved into place.

This was the point where it started hurting. My arms going over the cross piece were driven into the wood, and the corners of the wood were digging into my flesh. I complained, moaned, cried a bit, told them it hurt. They didn't really care much, it was supposed to hurt.

They rolled the cross over so I was facing the sky then dragged it so the bottom was next to the hole. Then they lifted me up into the air and I slid down, my back dragging on the wood and getting a nice boatload of splinters as I went. I screamed and swore. They ignored me.

"Fuckkk.... fuck fuck fuck... goddammit the cross has splinters!" I yelled as my body slid down and sank into place.

Then as the cross hit the bottom of the hole and my body weight settled on my arms, "OOOhhhh godddaammmit, my aaarrmmmsss... fuck fuck fuck..." The corners of the beam dug into both arms in two places where they went over.

"Push up on your feet," said the sadist.

I did. Hmm. My feet / ankles were tied to the upright of the cross and when I pushed down it raised my body slightly and put less pressure on my arms. That helped, a lot. Except my knees were bent and I couldn't push up far enough to straighten them. Try it-- try squatting with your knees bent at a 90 degree angle and see how long you can hold it. You can, for a while, but after a while your legs tire and just give out.

My legs gave out after about a minute and I sagged down and my arms dug into the crossbeam again and I swore and it hurt and dammmmmmmmnnnnnn.... this was what being crucified was really like. Being hung up naked and exposed and trying to find a comfortable, pain-free position that simply doesn't exist.

And my legs, of course, because of the way they were tied, were spread wide exposing my cunt to the camera , which focused in nice and tight at times. When I was lifting up on my legs, which was as much as I could, I was shaking and I could tell my cunt lips were visibly wobbling.

I imagined thousands of men surrounding me, watching me suffer, hanging on that damned cross. It made the whole experience more humiliating and more exciting at the same time. It was as if I was being crucified in public someplace, a spectacle for the public to come and gawk at.

And masturbate to, as well.

I think I was up on the cross about an hour, total. Not that long, really, but it was plenty for me to be getting desperate. I was in increasing pain in my back from hanging, and my legs and hips were aching and cramping from trying to lift myself.

One of the things about being tied up and on display is that you can't do little things for yourself that you normally do. Like brush the hair out of your eyes. Or wipe sweat away when it trickles down from your forehead into your eyes. Or wave away bugs. Bees and other creatures. At one point I swore ants were crawling up my leg and into my cunt.

I didn't talk much on the cross. There was no gag, so I could have had conversations but frankly, the camera man and still camera guy and sadist-rigger just didn't seem sympathetic people to talk to while I was suffering up there in the middle of the woods.

In spite of being tied only at my arms and ankles, there was really very little movement available to me. It was almost exclusively up and down maybe a foot or so. My hips could swing from side to side, which I did do a few times.

It was weird. At one point they stopped filming and the three guys just had a cigarette break. They stood in front of me a few feet and talked about their girlfriends and taxes and whether they were going to get laid that weekend. All while I was hanging a few feet away from them, in real pain.

I mean, really. I was hanging there in agony. They were supposed to be filming me, there was no reason to leave me up there, hanging, unless they were taking pictures; but these guys were just enjoying themselves while I was suffering up there on the cross. It really struck home then, that was what it was like being crucified. Just hanging there, suffering, and dying, while others talking about what they were having for dinner.

The sadist came over and diddled my clit for a while and they started filming again, then finally released me. They had to get a step ladder to get to me, they didn't want to dig up the cross-- too much work I guess. They cut me down and I lay on the ground for a while, unable to move. My legs and arms had simply given out.

I cried on the ground; I hadn't cried at all while up on the cross. I guess the relief and final sense of freedom just released the shit in my brain from being hung up there for more than an hour. The rigger gave me water and put a robe around me, and we went back to the house.

The next day, on the way home on the airplane I felt the strained muscles and seriously bruised arms and wondered why I am this sick. The experience fucking hurt. Reading over my description here it is clinical, almost detached. In reality I was sweating, shaking, scared, aroused, wet between my legs, aching, drooling, and in some serious fucking pain at times. Yet it had been a fantastic experience.

I dreamed of the crucifixion for days afterward. Sometimes nightmares, sometimes sex dreams. I masturbated to memories of it.

The bruises faded, the abrasions from the ropes went away in a few days.

It was the next week when I realized that the crucifixion had actually increased my need for bondage and pain. I used to be satisfied with being handcuffed while some guy fucked me. That seemed so... vanilla to me now.

Begging

I moved out of the hotel. I didn't go for an apartment, but a condo. An apartment would be easier to move in and out of but I found a wonderful three bedroom condo with a partial view of a lake and fell in love with the place.

Moving in was rather quick and easy, as I have virtually nothing except for my clothes and personal items. The furniture was entirely provided by a rental place and went in a few days before I moved. One bedroom upstairs has been left mostly empty, though it has a single bed in it. It's a spacious room, ready for items which I may be able to acquire or retrieve.

The only real thing it is missing is a play partner. Estelle was great for a couple of days, but ... I need something. Someone.

The lawyers are handling the divorce. I hope they don't suck everything out of it.

The issue is... I have never had anyone that knew me, cared for me, gave me what I need and desire, like Jason. Some have come close, and to tell the truth there have been one or two girls that came close. But ultimately, there is a reason why I linked myself to Jason.

So after getting established in my condo, I went to see Jason.

I called first, made sure he would be there. He agreed to see me.

You must understand that while I am submissive, it isn't always that easy of a thing for me. Submission is something that grew out of a kink I developed as a very young teen-- being tied up and manipulated, even hurt, as part of sex. A submissive nature is necessarily part of that, but it isn't like I started out submissive and then let people tie me up because I was submitting to them. There's a subtle difference.

Yes, I am submissive, but I don't simply get off on kneeling and barking like a dog or whatever it is my master wants. No. I need to submit as part of a process of losing control, losing physical control of myself. I don't know how better to describe it.

So going to Jason was difficult for me. Describing what happened is a bit difficult. In fact, once I had moved into the condo and lived in it for a couple of days, I was spiraling into depression once again, and needed to do something, anything. I had to take action.

I went to my house, the one I used to live in, and stood at the front door. I removed my clothes, put on a collar and chain. You do have to realize the door is partially exposed to the street. Neighbors across the street know of my somewhat unusual relationship (we've actually played with them a few times). But I was still exposed to casual passers-by. It didn't matter to me.

I rang the doorbell, then knelt in a traditional submissive's pose, my back to the street, head bowed.

Jason answered the door quickly.

"Siobhan. What are you doing?"

"I'm here to beg, Jason. I... I need you. Somehow. Anyhow. Just... Take me."

Jason looked down at me, clearly concerned, clearly upset. I couldn't see what was going on in his mind. I was scared he would just push me back and close the door on me.

Finally he said, "Well, we can't do this in the street. Come in."

I stood and went in calmly, bringing my folded clothes with me.

"Siobhan, we can't undo what happened. You are no longer my slave."

"I know, Jason. But that doesn't mean I don't want and need you. You know me better than anyone in this world, and you know how I need what we had. I am not prepared to give up on that."

Jason sat in a chair with an exhausted sigh. I knelt before him in a submissive posture, trying hard to keep tears from flowing. He could not know how my weakness was emerging right then.

"What we had was predicated on your complete submission and trust in me. It was designed specifically to prevent topping from below, something you wanted to make sure did not happen. When you invoked the Safe Word, you broke that. You topped from below, you took control. You can't have it both ways, baby girl. The rules were yours as much as they were mine."

"I know, Jason. It was a mistake. I am sorry. My body craves you, and more importantly, my mind craves you."

I lay down before him, in a prone slave worship position.

I think Jason may have been crying at that point. He was extremely upset, I know. "Siobhan, don't do this. It isn't like this is fixable. What we had is simply broken. We can't crazy glue it together."

"Yes sir. I know this sir. I was just hoping... we could build something new. Maybe something different."

My face was plastered straight down on the carpet. He could have done anything to me at that moment and I would have accepted it willingly. He could have put a noose around my neck and strangled me to death. He could have invited in the entire block of men living in the neighborhood and passed me around. I was trying desperately to get this across to him.

The conversation went on like that for a while, with me talking with my face on the floor, and he sitting in his chair. At one point he leaned forward in his chair and played with my hair lovingly, and that's when I could stop it, I began sobbing, my tears wetting the carpet below me. But I held my slave worship position.

In the end, Jason did not take me back as slave, but did relent and see that perhaps we could continue our relationship in some way. Perhaps not man and wife, not as owned slave and owner, but ... something.

It was a long emotional discussion. The divorce would move forward. We'd split assets (which he didn't have to, according to the prenup most of it was his). We were both free to pursue other interests and people.

But we would also see how we could continue our relationship. He'd think of taking me back with some appropriate level of punishment (which made me shudder... it isn't going to be pretty, let me tell you).

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in the penny punishment. For those that don't know how this works, I stand naked with my feet about two feet from the wall. I then lean in so my forehead touches. A penny is slipped in between my forehead and the wall, and I have to keep it there. Hands are kept behind my back, handcuffed if I am lucky. It's an endurance test, and if held long enough can be real torture. After several hours I was shaking.

When time was up Jason came in and caught the penny when I moved. I couldn't lean back, my body was cramping in ways that made straightening up difficult. Instead I just sort of sank to my knees and then to my side, laying on the floor.

Jason told me to get dressed and go home. I did, quietly. When I was dressed I moved to him and he took me in his arms and we kissed. When the kiss broke, I simply said, "thank you, Jason."

Jason gave me another goodbye peck and I left, heading out the door and back to my new condo.

Once back in the condo I unpacked several boxes that had arrived; mostly new bondage and punishment gear. I got undressed and tried out a few items, enjoying the feeling of leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles, of the smooth curve of a butt plug, and the clink of handcuffs.

When it came down to it though, I used none of that stuff. Instead I got a simple hair brush from the bathroom, bent over the bed and began hitting my bare ass with it. As hard as I could. Spanking yourself is never as good or painful as when someone else does it, but I spanked myself for a good twenty minutes, grunting and heaving and panting all alone in my condo.

I went to bed, legs and back aching from the penny punishment, and my ass burning from the self-punishment. Once again I reassured myself that life would go on. Jason was not out of my life, though things had changed. I would find other partners, and explore new things. Life was all right.

Estelle Again

The next day I was in a better mood.

It soured some when I got notice from an attorney representing Jason in the divorce case. He had moved quickly to get representation. I was going to have to do the same.

I make more money than Jason at my job. I'm a director at a corporate IT department, and have about ten people working for me. When Jason and I got married I signed a prenuptial agreement which was restrictive, essentially a slave contract. It turned everything over to Jason, and gave him control over all assets. The only assets I had were those he had given me, and that wasn't much.

Luckily, I got a paycheck fairly soon and the cash from that got me back on my feet. But I needed an attorney, I needed to see if I could get something out of the mutual property. The slave contract I had signed was carefully crafted to be completely legal, but could still be challenged I was sure. Anything can be challenged.

Don't get me wrong-- I didn't resent that Jason had all the assets. It was part of the deal I signed up for. As a slave, I had nothing except what he allowed me. Even my job was something he allowed me to have, simply to I could serve him by bringing in money. I was sure glad I had the job now, though.

I was in a better mood because of my self-bondage session the night before. It had made me realize my life wasn't over. I had lived without Jason before, and I would again. I didn't especially want to; I really wanted for Jason to take me back. That just didn't seem like a possibility right then.

So I was immediately planning for a self bondage session that evening after work. Estelle was the room service maid who had done turndown service the night before, and had agreed to come by again that night. More or less. It meant I could really do some self bondage and this excited me the entire day. I was distracted in meetings and left work early.

One thing that had made me feel weird and naked was that Jason had removed my slave collar. It was a thin steel ring, light and classy, and could be worn anywhere without raising eyebrows. But, it needed a special tool to remove and Jason was the one with the tool. He had removed it that night and so for the first time in a number of years I wasn't wearing a collar around my neck. I really did feel naked without it.

I thought of getting a replacement, a slave collar of my own to replace it, but decided against it. The collar was a symbol of my slave status. If I was no longer an owned slave, I should not be wearing a collar. It was like wearing a wedding ring when I wasn't married. If I wanted a slave collar, I needed to find a master and owner to collar me.

These were just some of the issues I was dealing with in the week after the initial breakup. There was a lot going on, but I am stabilizing myself slowly but surely. A big part of that stabilization was getting back into some bondage and feeling normal again. Even if it was self-bondage.

For the second self bondage session, I decided to try something I had seen someone else do. It was actually quite a simple tie, but would render me completely helpless in a rather convoluted way-- something that made me wet just thinking about. The only hard part was that it required creating some very specific ties using pre-cut lengths of rope.

For this, I went by Home Depot again, and got new rope, duct tape, and a cutter. I had ordered some self bondage equipment over the internet including various types of cuffs, timers, clamps, straps, harnesses... over $500 worth of stuff. It costs to get quality, but is worth it. But for now, the rope would do as long as I prepared it carefully.

I actually took off from work early, at 3:00. The prospect of once again getting into some bondage and being truly helpless was exciting me and I was distracted during the day. In fact, I was even wet during the day. I know, I checked. I wanted to go to the women's room and masturbate but made myself wait. I wanted to be totally aroused and frustrated when in bondage.

(One thing about the bondage items I ordered was that it would make it easier to add dildos or vibrators to the experience. Rope bondage made it difficult to arrange self stimulation during the restraint.)

Back in the hotel by 4:00, I first stripped to completely naked. I set about measuring and cutting the various lengths of rope, which has to be done while naked-- the presence of clothes can completely alter the length measurements. I added a couple of rope strips over the sample I had seen to make things more secure and restrictive, but in the end there were five lengths of rope.

The one dangerous part of this was that it involved a loop around my neck. Basic principle of self bondage: nothing around the neck, ever. I was violating this principle, but I had confidence I could tie the loop so it would not get tighter. No slip knots and the pull on the neck would be limited. Uncomfortable (that's the point) but not painful or dangerous.

Pain. I wanted some pain. That was going to be tougher, pain is usually your body telling you something is injuring it, or about to be injured. There are ways to produce pain without actually injuring, but it's a fine line. For men, the best place is the testicles, For women... it's the nipples. They are sensitive and can produce a spike of pain before any real damage is done.

Once again I had failed to prepare properly. I looked around for something to invoke a little pain while bound. My boobs are large enough to be bound, but boob bondage by itself doesn't cause a lot of pain. A crotch rope? Not really, not unless combined with something. Capsaicin or something really nasty like that (applied properly it will make me sob in pain). Nope.

Just the one classic item, available in most homes and in the better hotels. Skirt or pants hangers with clips. My hotel had some. Hmmmm.

I pulled a hanger out and felt them. The clamps for the skirt were stiff. I flexed them a bit, trying to loosen them, then tentatively put one on one nipple. And yelped and took it off. Yep. Pain. Perfect. But I didn't want to do permanent damage. The clamp would cause pain, probably the right amount (which for me is a lot). But I was going to be tied up until, what.... 8pm or 9pm maybe. It was 4:45, and that might mean clamps on my nips for up to four hours. That could do damage.

I decided to wear the clamps while binding myself and then remove them just before securing my wrist. I flexed the clamps a bit more to loosen them, put one on my right nipple (ohmygod it hurt...) and then on my left nipple (ohmygod it hurt even more...), winced and looked at my naked boobs and tits clamped in the full length room mirror, bent over and wheezed from the pain, then turned to begin tying myself up.

I was ready. I decided to do the bondage on the bed. It was a king size and had plenty of room.

Everything was measured, and I looped a few items, creating the rope that would bind me. One aspect of self bondage with rope is to plan out and prepare the slip knots, loops and the like. It never works to sit trying to wrap rope around your body as you slowly tie yourself up. Some things, yes. But not the items that really need to be secure and reliable, like neck, shoulder or wrist bindings.

First to put on was a strip of rope that went around my neck. Not safe as a self bondage technique, but I had used this a number of times before and had faith I knew how. Tied to that was a strand of rope that hung down on my back, about halfway. At the end of that was a cinch loop.

The gag was easy. Similar to the night before. My panties, stuffed in my mouth. The duct tape went over my mouth, sealing in the panties. Duct tape can be rubbed off pretty easily so I wrapped it around the back of my head. That in turn wrapped around my hair (which is down to my shoulders and brown), then back to the front and around again, three or four times. When I was done, there was no way that gag was coming off.

My nipples were throbbing. The pain was bad (good).

Then came a crotch rope. Crotch ropes can be used for a bunch of things, including as an anchor for other ties such as wrists, or for keeping insertions such as dildos in, or for simple discomfort (if done tightly or with extra knots, that kind of thing). In this case I inserted a butt plug, but even large ones can come out when I struggle so the crotch rope would help keep it in. I also pulled it pretty tight so the ropes dug deep into my slit and ran right over my clit.

I was already feeling the thrill of being tied. My nipples hurt badly, my mouth was gagged tightly, and the crotch rope felt nice.

Next... a set of ropes in loops of a specific size. I slipped one up each of my legs to my thighs, just above the knee. They weren't super tight, and had a bit of slack-- this was intentional.

Now came the final move. In self bondage you can tie yourself up as much as you want, but until you fasten those wrists, you are not helpless. The last step is always securing the wrists.

For this I slipped my right arm through the loop of rope that was on my thigh. There was enough slack for this, though not a lot.The other arm slipped through the loop on the left. At this point I could have slipped back out, but I moved my arms to behind my back. This forced my legs apart and twisted the loops around my thighs quite tight.

My wrists went behind my back and found the loop hanging down from the neck loop. It was a struggle, but I managed to get my wrists inside, one at a time. A good pull to cinch the loop tight and... bam. My wrists were tied behind my back, pulled up to the neck loop. My arms were tied to my legs, pulling them apart. I was tied and helpless.

Damn it felt good.

I wriggled a bit, feeling how secure the tie was. Having my legs pulled apart was a bit humiliating, which was the point. I was bent over against my thighs, as well, forced by the thigh loops around my arms.

As I wriggled I felt the nipple clamps hurt even worse.

Oh... I had forgotten to remove the clamps... I closed my eyes and felt the intense pain in my nipples, burning. FUck.  Fuckity fuck fuck. I tried saying "Fuckity fuck fuck", but all that came out was a very soft "mmmmmmmnnnmmmm". The gag was doing it's job nicely.

OK. I could get them off. I wriggled legs around. They were held apart by my arms. Fuck. I could not get them close enough to get the damn clamps off. Oh god... once I realized I was completely helpless to remove the clamps, the pain got significantly worse. Like... fffuuuccckkkk....

God that made me wet. I wish I had some way to get a vibrator into my crotch rope instead of that butt plug. Jason had my only vibrator, I hadn't gotten it when I left. Bastard. I blamed him for this.

I continued working on it. Finally I tipped over so I was on my knees and my face was on pillows on the bed. But my arms tied to my legs kept them up and I couldn't get my breasts down against the sheets to rub them and rub off the clamps.

Well, I did succeed in getting close but the minimal rubbing action just hurt worse.

I spread my legs as wide as I could, knees pointing directly away from each other. Pushed my hips down, until my cunt was pressing against the sheets. I blessed Jason for implementing a flexibility training program for me some time before. At one time I would not have been able to do that. Now I could, and my breasts were finally on the bed, pressing, and I began moving them.

The clamps were too damn tight! I just succeeded in screaming into my gag with the agony. Looking at the clock... 6:00pm. I had up to three more hours. I did not want these clamps on that long!

I lay panting for a while. Tears were in my eyes.

I had been through more pain than this. A lot more. Jason had put me through more, I had ridden a wooden pony for hours, I had hung upside down with weights tied to my tits. I've had needles inserted under my fingernails.

It was the three hours that got me. I began rubbing again, harder, on the sheets trying to pull the clamps off. I didn't take pain for an answer, I just kept on. The right clamp shifted and moved so it was pinching just the very end of my nipple, which of course made it hurt ten times worse. I screamed into my gag again and rubbed it all the way off.

And screamed a bit more. The blood was rushing back into my poor smashed nipple. After a minute or two I started working on the other one.... and with similar pain and screams I managed to get that one off.

I lay there, moved my knees up just a bit to a more comfortable position and waited.

Clenching my ass around the butt plug I wished I had a vibrator. I was wet and ready to cum. I loved this. I was tied and there was nothing I could do about it until Estelle did her turndown service.

Yes, I know what you are thinking. "Estelle never came! Self bondage gone wrong!" Sorry to disappoint. Estelle came at about 8:30pm, entered the room and stopped, staring. I thought she knew what she was into, but apparently the sight of my ass up in the air, legs spread, and the butt plug sticking out, was enough to surprise and maybe shock her a bit.

"Miss, are you all right???" she said in a worried tone. I made muffled "mmmm" noises and she saw I was gagged.

Estelle is actually rather good looking. Younger than me, and nice dark hair. I found myself wishing she'd maybe pull out a dildo and make me cum. No such luck.

She fumbled with the gag for a bit and undid it. I spit out my panties and immediately said calmly, "Thank you Estelle. I am just fine, thank you. Thanks for making sure to come by. I'd be stuck without you."

"Miss, I worry about you. This not normal."

She started working on the ropes, which were hard to get undone. "There's a wire cutter over there," I said, indicating a table across the room.

She got it and made quick work of the ropes.

"I told my boyfriend, he say he wants you to come by, he can help tie you up. I told him no."

I smiled. Getting rid of the last strands of rope, I said, "That's kind of you Estelle, but I think I am OK for now. Though..."

I thought for a moment. "Perhaps you and I could engage in something a bit more... interesting that just the turn down service you have provided?"

Reaching out I took her hand in mine. She looked confused and slowly withdrew her hand. "Oh, miss... no... I am not... you know... lesbica."

I sighed. "All right. Well, can I count on you to come by and perform your turndown service tomorrow night?"

Estelle once again looked a bit uncomfortable. She wasn't looking at my naked body.

"Miss, my schedule, it is not for tomorrow. Maybe I work tomorrow, but it is not certain."

"Well that won't work," I laughed. "Don't want someone else barging in on what you just saw."

She shook her head vehemently. "No, Miss. Someone else might call the police."

I sighed. I was going to have to find some other way. Moving into an apartment and getting more supplies would help. And eventually, I needed a dominant. Or dominatrix. Someone that could do more than just self bondage.

"OK, Estelle. Well, listen. Call me if you change your mind."

I handed her my card, along with $100 cash tip for her services.

She looked with wide eyes and nodded. "Yes. Thank you... "

"Call me Siobhan."

"Thank you, Siobhan." She turned and left.

I ordered a late room service and ate naked watching TV.