The Visit · Bound · Part 1 (1/2)
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Thank goodness I’ve actually found the place and I’m on time as well!
The photocopier in the library had been broken, so I’d just made a sketch map of this particular town's roads. The trouble was that when
I got here, I picked up all sorts of one way streets and had got completely lost. It was pure luck I’d found the place. A good omen?
I approach the front door carrying my huge bag full of submissive gear.
A movement behind the curtains and the door opens as I reach for the bell.
A vision appears before me. Gosh! Mistress Velda is just like her photo, very attractive and wearing all the fantasy mistress’s gear: the black leatherwear, the black high heeled boots, the long leather gloves – matched with long dark hair and perfect make-up. Wonderful
– what a start!
Now I am fairly clear as to the setup here, as I’d had a conversation with her on the telephone and so I’d devised a simple two act ‘fantasy play’ the text of which I’d sent her by post so as not to waste time explaining my needs when I arrived. It was nothing too complicated, I made sure of that in the light of previous experiences.
Here we go – Act one: the bedroom scene. I have stripped naked and I’m ordered to start dressing in the lingerie I’ve brought and is now laid out on the bed. With my foundation garments and nylons donned, I reach for my satin slip. She grabs it and the negligee before I can put them on.
“Oh what lovely things– I must show them to my TV.”
So saying, she dashes off out of the room.
Damn! That wasn’t in the script. I hear them chattering in the next room.
I look at myself in the large mirror. I'm recycling my fantasies again. A couple of unpleasant, painful and unsatisfactory sessions with my bound naked and torture fantasies have propelled me into my rather less painful 'humiliation' fantasies. And as I don't care much for the usual mistresses interpretation of humiliation, (the last one actually pissed on me for Christ's sake!) I usually request an agenda something like this one. I'm not instantly submissive in the presence of a mistress but being compelled by her to dress up as a female certainly changes my mental attitude very rapidly.
Dressed in lingerie, I become very docile, compliant, weak and vulnerable, how could one feel otherwise dressed up like that. Being a bit of a perfectionist though, I do try to get the end result looking as authentic as possible, hence the expensive lingerie – and somewhat to my surprise – I also get quite a kinky sort of erotic thrill when I feel the texture against my skin and view myself bound up wearing my female underwear. I suppose that must make me a TV of sorts, but I have little interest in that field outside of using as an additional reinforcement by which a female can humiliate and enslave me.
Velda comes back, “They’re gorgeous, we’d both like to wear them,” She becomes Velda the mistress again – “Now let’s see what you look like in your wife’s frillys!”
I soon realize
I’d made a mistake sending her a fantasy longer than a few lines.
She’d obviously read it, but must have given it a mere cursory inspection and then discarded it. She’s remembered enough though, to get it completely mixed up and turn my carefully reasoned drama into quite illogical farce. Fair enough, I’m not that disappointed, my expectations are always low, but one does lives in hope.
But whatever she gets up to, nothing can ruin Act Two I figure, as by now, I am fully dressed up in the lingerie, with high heels, seamed nylons, wig and make up. My wrists have been handcuffed together in front, with a leather strap pulled tightly at the back, pinioning my elbows together at the back and my ankles are manacled together with a short chain, my own suggestion and equipment, I'm secure in the knowledge I can’t wriggle out of these bonds.
There’s a noise in the yard outside. “Those bloody builders – I want to have a word with them!”
Velda dashes off and I can hear her berating the builders.
Hell, she must be dominant, I’m not sure I would dare talk to builders like that and they sound very conciliatory as well. What on earth do they make of her attire? Surely it must be obvious as to what she is – or is it to non scene people? Maybe they just think she dresses eccentrically. Where exactly are they?
I’m suddenly a bit worried I know in the script that Velda is to compel me to hobble from this bedroom down to the ‘dungeon’.
Could I be seen in a window? I suspect Velda wouldn’t bother too much, but heavens – the embarrassment – I’m not into that sort of humiliation.
Luckily I make my very clumsy and inelegant journey to the dungeon without any alien observation. I thought I would have trouble with the short chained ankle manacles and the high heels, but actually it’s the very tight long satin slip I’m wearing that causes most of the problem getting down the stairs. I finally arrive and look around in some admiration. It’s one of the best equipped dungeons I’ve ever seen. I’m starting to feel better about the situation.
Velda has other plans though. Obviously proud of her workplace, instead of opening the curtains on ‘Act Two’, she now proceeds to take me, I don’t believe this, on a guided tour of the dungeon!
She seems quite unconscious of the grotesque absurdity of the situation as I hobble from one item to the next, unsteady on my stiletto's and my shackled ankles, trying to seem keen and interested as the enthusiastic
Velda points out the gruesome torments that can be developed with the various bits of equipment. She's chatting away as if I'm a colleague or a close friend and I'm still desperately still trying to view her as my fantasy cruel, man-hating lesbian!
Eventually, thank goodness, Velda runs out of items to display, and becomes a mistress again. Velda not at all bad in her mistress mode and I can see why she is said to be very popular in this business.
I go though the routine of begging for mercy and acting as if I’m genuinely terrified of her as she comes out with the usual mistress patter.
All the time I’ve been eyeing Velda’s cage, I wish she'd get on with it and get me into it. She’d described the cage on the phone and
I had decided it would be the major item in my fantasy. It was an evil looking contraption, with thick steel bars. It was designed, so Velda told me, to give maximum discomfort to any normal sized male imprisoned in it.
Velda finally finishes with what for me had become totally unnecessary
‘foreplay’ and motions me to the cage. Good I think, clear my mind, start the ball rolling, I can still get into the mood and get something out of this session. I’m about to enter the cage, when…Ring, Ring, Ring… Velda has switched the phone extension down to here. She walks over to the phone on a corner table.
I try to block everything from my mind but the fantasy, but I can’t shut out Velda’s shrieks.
“Are you on your knees? Why not! Get on your knees before your mistress this moment you pathetic, miserable worm!”
I look over and catch Velda’s eye. She grins and gives me a conspiratorial wink. Oh God, I’m starting to lose the scene again. I stand, patiently waiting for Velda to finish her tirade.
“Two o’clock tomorrow then and you’ll really feel my whip this time.”
Velda slams the receiver down and strides back to me, “Right now, you helpless, pathetic apology of a man – get into that cage!”
She’s back in her mistress mode, I struggle to get back into the mood.
Hold on a minute though, she’s forgotten the gag! Absolutely essential to this fantasy.
“I’ll scream,” I feebly whine. I hope she takes the hint, I am still trying to hang on to my battered fantasy and it wouldn't help it to actually ask right now to be gagged.
The hint works as Velda suddenly remembers – but she’s left my pristine, disinfected gag upstairs and she’s not going to bother going back up for
She searches around and finds one amongst the large pile of miscellaneous bits and pieces lying around. A huge penis shaped gag is forced into my mouth. Ugh – it tastes horrible – how many mouths has it been in? Could I catch something vile? Oh well, nothing much I can do about that now. I try to say something but I can’t form any words or make much of a sound at all.
The gag may not be that clean, but it's remarkably effective.
I’m forced into the cage and then Velda actually does something on her own initiative. She eases up my slip above my knees and straps my nyloned knees together with one of the many leather straps hanging from the wall, taking several tight turns and fastening it securely. I’m feeling a lot better now, being gagged and further bound – that’s just what my lesbian would get up to.
Velda closes the cage door and padlocks it. She was certainly right about the lack of comfort. It’s too low to be able to stand upright, so one is awkwardly crouched and the rest is so tight for space that even if one wasn't bound up, a relaxed position wouldn't be attainable. Being bound in the way I am now adds considerably to the distress as any natural movement to ease discomfort is just not possible. This is absolutely great, just what I’d envisioned in my fantasy.
Velda does some ritual jeering and mocking me in the cage, but eventually, thankfully, leaves, slamming the dungeon door and now I’m alone in here.
Now at last, free of distraction, my vivid imagination can take over and looking at my abject predicament in the mirror opposite and struggling helplessly in the cage, I can really begin to believe that some beautiful lesbian has trapped me into this situation and I know that will produce one or maybe more very acceptable orgasms.
I’m just getting into my act when I hear the doorbell ring.
I hear Velda’s footsteps walk along the hall to open it.
“Hello Velda, I must tell you, I’ve had a great game at Cortonwood.
Got around in eighty nine.”
Albeit that he has a loud voice, I’m still surprised I can hear quite so clearly from down here, I would have thought this place was virtually soundproof.
They walk along the hall and exasperatingly settle in the room above me. Damn, damn, damn…I can barely hear Velda’s voice, but although
I can’t make out his words, blabbermouth is noisy enough to really distract me from getting into the necessary mood. I simply can't fantasize with that background. I’ve no alternative but to put my fantasy on hold until the noisy sod goes.
As time ticks by, I begin to realize that I'm probably passing the point of no return in this session, it really isn’t going to work today – for
Christ’s sake Velda, come down here and release me!
After what seems ages, I finally here some movement up top.
But then to my sudden disquiet, I hear both them coming down the steps to the dungeon.
“I’ve brought one of your workmates down to see you!” announces Velda, sounding very pleased with herself.
What the bloody hell is she talking about? Oh no, she’s remembered some tiny part of my fantasy ‘play’ and has taken it completely out of context.
“What are you doing in there instead of being at work?”
My loudmouth golfer is playing his part. As I half suspected, he actually has a red face and is overweight. Piss off you noisy creep!
You’ve already ruined my session. What’s that he’s saying now?
“What a lovely creature in there.”
If I wasn’t behind bars, you’d find out this lovely creature had a good right hook, you asshole! Fuck them! I twist around as much as my situation will allow me and ignore them.
Never in a million years would a male figure in one of my fantasies.
God, remember the last time I was involved with a male in a session.
It was with a mistress in Birkenhead – as it happens, I was again in a
TV fantasy mode, dressed somewhat like this and bound spread-eagled on a sort of frame. Similarly on that occasion, someone had banged on the front door and I could hear the mistress having an excitable conversation with some male. There was silence for some time and then the door opened and the mistress ushered in from what I could make out in the dim light, a male dressed up as a female and wearing a huge fur coat!
“I want to humiliate her,” the mistress said, “go over and make love to her as she’s bound, gagged and helpless.”
The TV dutifully came over and started kissing me all over. Now
I accept a fair amount of humiliation from a mistress herself in most circumstances, but I was instantly revolted by being kissed by a male and struggling to avoid his 'attentions' actually tore my right arm free from the admittedly flimsy connections on the frame. Instinctively, I swung a punch and as luck would have it, connected with the jaw of the TV. He flew backwards, tripping over a whipping stool and landed on the floor the other side in a big furry heap and lay there not moving.
I’ll never forget that moment; the shocked silence, the openmouthed expression on the face of the mistress as she looked from me to him, trying to make sense of what she had just witnessed. After what seemed ages, she got her wits together and helped the by now, piteously whining
The Visit · Bound · Part 1 (1/2)
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