Mistress · Bound · Part 1

Mistress · Bound · Part 1 (1/2)
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You stand at the door. It is heavy, oaken, crossed with iron straps. Pierced solely by a tiny grille at eye level, displaying the merest hint of a glow from within. Buried in the cold stone basement of the old manor, its appearance alone fills you with trepidation, to say nothing of the step you intend to take when the door opens. The air is clammy, moist. You shiver in your thin shirt and bare feet. You gather your resolve and raise a hand to strike the iron knocker in the center of the door. Just as your hand is about to grip the metal ring, you hear – “Come in.”

– through the small porthole.

How could she know you were there? The stone walls of the basement show no cameras or surveillance devices. You take a breath and open the door. True to its appearance, it creaks menacingly, and you step into the room behind it.

The room is familiar to you. You have spent many an evening, sometimes bleeding into day, here, though the lack of windows and clocks makes the passage of time blurry. The stone walls are hung with an extensive array of tools and toys – whips, cuffs, clamps, gags, and other implements of restraint and pain. Light is provided by several bare bulbs affixed to the ceiling, giving a harsh, but dim, light. Scattered about the room are heavy pieces of furniture in manifold shapes and sizes, all of which your body knows intimately. Right in the middle of the room sits an overstuffed easy chair. The incongruity of its presence unnerves you more than any of the devices adorning the walls.

In the chair is your Mistress, dressed in a shiny black leather catsuit, thigh-high boots with spiked heels, sitting with her legs crossed, idly swirling a glass of dark red wine in her hand. She takes a sip, sets it down and beckons you with her finger. You close the door and step to stand in front of her; you lower your eyes, hands by your sides. Your anticipation and apprehension are visible in your stance and on your face.

“You know what tonight is,” she says. It is not a question.

“Yes, Mistress,” you reply.

“You know that tonight is for me, and for me alone. You trust me to use you as I see fit.”

“Yes, Mistress.” You are quieter this time.

“Understand,” she says, “my possession of you will be complete. If you assent, there will be no consideration of your needs, your pain, your desire. There will be no safeword. I will play with you, torment you, punish you as much as I want. I will abuse you until you cannot possibly take any more, and then I will continue.”

You take a deep breath and release it.

“I will keep you as long as I want, how I want. I will not talk to you, as you will be a thing, a toy for me to enjoy. Your pain will mean nothing except as it satisfies my pleasure, my…” she smiles slightly “…curiosity.” You shudder at the way she deliberately pronounces each syllable of the last word.

“But you must agree. You must tell me that you accept my ownership and use of you fully. If you do not, we will forget this, and continue as before. I will not hold it against you. So, I ask. What is your answer?”

You close your eyes.

No limits. Your Mistress has pushed you so far, and you wonder how she could possibly do any more.

No safeword. In the course of your relationship, you have only used it a handful of times. But you always knew it was there. You wonder what it would be like to be completely out of control, truly unable to stop. You admit to yourself that you are scared. But the thought also arouses you. What would it be like?

Your eyes pop open as your Mistress whispers in your ear. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.” She has walked up to you as you think. She waits.

Finally, you nod and reply, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Yes, what?” she asks, returning to her chair.

“Yes, I give myself completely to you. Use me as you wish. Do not consider me or allow me to stop you. Please, Mistress.”

A genuine smile crosses her face. She has only smiled at you a few times, and it always melts you. It overcomes your fear and convinces you to enthusiastically give yourself to her.

“Fine, then we begin.” she stands up. “I expect no more talk from you for the rest of the evening. Any violation of my commands will be dealt with quickly and harshly. I am in no mood for anything but submission this evening.”

You nod your head, unwilling to anger her this soon.

“Stand still,” she says. Your Mistress approaches you and begins to peel the thin t-shirt up. You raise your arms to let her pull it over your head. She takes her time, finally sliding it off your arms and tossing it aside. You are now clad only in your jeans – per your Mistress’ instructions, you wore no underwear. You take a moment to glance at your naked torso, proud of the work you have done to sculpt it, proud to offer it as a gift to your Mistress.

For tonight is for her. She has taken so much time with you, training you, making you feel things you never thought you could feel. She has pushed you to the edge, and then shown you that you could go further. So tonight, you will allow her to take what she wants from you, whatever that may be. You meant it when you said you trusted her, and so you will give her this gift.

She reaches down and undoes the snap and zipper of your jeans pushing them down over your hips. You shimmy the rest of the way out of them and kick them aside. You will not be needing them again for a while. You stand naked in front of her, looking straight ahead.

“Present,” she orders. You have practiced this many times, and so you put your hands behind your head and spread your legs, remaining motionless. You feel exposed, which is the point of the position. You want to move, to cover yourself with your hands, as inadequate as that would be. It is difficult, because you truly wonder what she is capable of when allowed free reign on a willing subject, but you stay still. She walks back over to her chair and sits, picking up the wine again.

She is silent for several minutes, casually sipping her wine until it is gone. You have a hard time judging how long and are starting to get nervous. Along with the nervousness comes excitement, and your body reacts accordingly. You become stiff and she looks at you with a mocking grin.

“You think you’re going to enjoy this,” she says. Not a question, but a statement. “Oh, this will be fun.” She gets up and walks back to you, standing in front of you. She is not small, and normally stands only a fraction of an inch shorter than you. In her heels she looms over you. The leather of the catsuit hugs her body, revealing every curve of her voluptuous body. The view, and the situation, increases your excitement, which is only inflamed when your Mistress grabs your cock and gently squeezes it.

You forget yourself and whisper “Please, Mistress, Please.” A mistake. She slaps you, hard, shocking a gasp out of you.

“What did I tell you?” she shouts. “You’ll regret that, you stupid slut! Did you hear me?”

You barely catch the reflex to answer vocally, and nod in the affirmative.

“Better,” she says. “Stay.” As if to a dog. She takes several items from the wall and comes to stand behind you.

“Chin up.” You comply and she buckles a high posture collar around your neck. It prevents you from lowering your head or turning more than a few degrees in either direction. She then pulls down one of your hands and buckles a thick leather cuff around it, clicking a small padlock on the buckle, repeating the process with your other hand. She padlocks your hands together to the end of a short piece of chain – you can hear it rattling, and you are familiar with these cuffs and collar. She then clips the other end of the chain to your collar, holding your hands up in the small of your back. You pull but know from experience that the cuffs will hold fast. Your Mistress caresses your ass gently, and your breath quickens, but you control the desire to make any other noise.

“Good boy,” she says. “Open.” You open your mouth and she shoves a large ball behind your teeth. It is attached to an elaborate harness that she closes around your head and chin, pulling each buckle tight. As she finishes, you grunt at the discomfort – you know that when you are gagged, your Mistress allows you to vocalize any way you want, as she relishes the sound of your muffled attempts at speech, your whimpers, your screams. She comes around in front of you.

“Understand,” she says, “this is for me, not for you. I will push you as far as you can go, and then farther, then farther again. I will not stop, and I will not care, because your wants and needs are not important tonight. I will allow myself free reign over your body, and the only thing that will keep you from permanent harm is my desire to not damage my property – my toy. This is your last chance, and after this I will ignore anything you say – any begging, pleading, bargaining will go unanswered and probably be severely punished. If you wish to continue, nod your head. If you wish to stop, shake your head and I will release you – without judgement.” She stops and looks at you, waiting.

You are unsure. This is farther than you have ever gone. You don’t know what she is capable of, but you want to please her – to give her this gift. She has made you hers, and you would not go back for anything. The idea of displeasing her gives you a knot in your stomach. You think for a few more moments, and then your desire to please her outweighs your trepidation. You close your eyes and slowly nod your head.

“Excellent,” she says. She looks at you for several moments that stretch into minutes, looking up and down your body. You can’t do much – your arms are immobilized, and your mouth is filled with a large gag – so you stand still, increasingly uncomfortable. She enjoys your discomfort, and finally retrieves a stout leather lead and clips it to the front of your collar. She pulls you over to the wall and wraps the lead around a hook in the wall, trapping you there, still visibly excited.

“We have to take care of that,” she says, giving your erection a light swat that still makes you wince and whimper behind the gag. She leaves for a moment, coming back with a plastic bag filled with ice.

“Hold still,” she says, resting the ice on your stiff cock. You yelp and try to jump away but she grabs the lead attached to your collar and holds it close, keeping the ice on you. Gradually your erection begins to subside, leaving you limp and disappointed. Your Mistress pulls a device off the wall nearby. It is a chastity device, but one you have never worn before – and you have worn many. You look down as best you can, the stiff collar preventing much movement, to see her closing a metal cage around your now limp cock. She clicks it closed around the base of your balls and locks it, and you can feel dull spikes lining the interior, surrounding you. You start to whine, knowing that anything that gets you excited will cause a great deal of pain as the spikes press against you. Your Mistress just smiles at you and unhooks your lead, ignoring your distress.

She guides you over to a bench. You know it well, and its capabilities make you nervous. It is heavy, made of thick wood and stout steel fasteners. Unpadded, the flat top has a large hole near the center. At the end, two sturdy poles rise about two feet high, tipped with heavy rings. The rest of the bench is similarly equipped with rings and hooks. Your Mistress pushes you down on your stomach on the flat of the bench, and your now-trapped cock fits through the hole in the center. She quickly clips a snap hook from your collar to a ring near the end of the bench, holding you down with your head hanging over the end of the bench.

She takes her time with the next steps, and you can see a malicious grin playing over her mouth when she moves in front of you. First, she clasps a cuff around each foot, clipping them to the rising posts at the end, holding them up in the air and your legs apart. She then runs straps over your thighs, pinning them to the bench. She does the same over the small of your back, and then higher on your back, pressing your arms down. She runs more thick leather straps around your calves, fusing them to the upright posts. You are now completely immobilized on the bench. It holds you immobile yet exposes every vulnerable part of your body – your back, ass and the bottoms of your feet, completely exposed to whatever your Mistress decides to do with them.

For the moment, she chooses to leave you here. She walks to the door and flicks the light off. Saying nothing, she leaves and closes the door with a thud.

You are now alone, in the dark, pinned to this bench like a specimen, with no idea when your Mistress is coming back or any way to measure the passage of time. In the darkness, your thoughts start to spin. You regret making this offering, knowing there is now no way out of it. You are afraid of what your Mistress will do given free reign over you. You struggle against your restraints, uselessly. The fear, restriction, and loss of control is a powerful mixture, and you begin to become aroused again. Knowing what will happen when you push up against the spikes only hastens the inevitable, and you cry out as the spikes press into your most sensitive parts.

The room is mostly silent, except for your moans and breath. Your mind begins to play tricks on you, and you think you hear her enter, pleading wordlessly with her, only to learn each time that it was an illusion. It feels like you have been here for an eternity, and you fear that you may go mad. Knowing that this is merely the beginning of your Mistress’ play only makes it worse. The spikes are now pushing into your cock, and you squirm and yell into your gag, begging your absent Mistress for release. Of course, there is no answer and no relief, and eventually you slump in defeat and despair, whining softly into the tight gag.

The lights burst to life, temporarily blinding you. The surprise causes you to yelp, and this tangible proof your Mistress has returned goads you into wordless begging.

“Mmm! Nngh! Leee! Ih-resh! Leee!” You try to convince her to let you go, that you cannot take this anymore, craning your head up slightly to look into her eyes and plead as she walks in front of you. Her look chills you to the bone. She regards you for a moment, head cocked, curious almost, as if she were examining a specimen at the zoo – certainly not a human being. Then, slowly, she grins, wide. She says nothing at all, ignoring your attempts to communicate entirely. You grunt in frustration and she does nothing for a moment.

She walks around behind you and you whine a muddled question, knowing that it will be unanswered, that it will only play into your Mistress’ cruel game, unable to stop yourself anyway. You feel her grab your left foot in both hands and squeeze with a strong grip. She begins to knead and massage your foot, and you hum with pleasure, enjoying the touch of your Mistress in spite of your bonds. She has caressed you in just such a way so many times, giving you hours of pleasure mixed with pain, blending the two into an addicting drug. You dread what will come next but cannot help but respond to her. You had almost gotten used to the small, spiked cage around you, but you become even harder in it and the spikes press deeper into your erection, which is painfully constricted. More jumbled begging from you does not elicit a response from your Mistress as she continues to massage your feet.

Then, she stops. You wait with held breath. You can feel her fingernail slowly trace a line along the sole of your foot. No! Anything but that! She knows how ticklish you are and has rarely taken advantage of it. It is the only time you have used your safeword with your Mistress. You buck involuntarily from the touch, rocking the bench slightly, and she stops, speaking again, to herself.

“Ooh!” she says, “this will be fun!” With that, she digs her fingertips into both of your soles, causing you to laugh and shake uncontrollably. The sensation is almost immediately more than you can handle, and your mind spins out of control. You yell, pull, shake, but cannot escape her touch. She continues, digging in fingernails, fast, merciless. You beg her again, and again are ignored. Every second you think you cannot endure another second of this treatment, and every second is followed by another second like the last, blurring into an endless haze of torture.

She stops, and you breathe heavily, unable to vocalize. Were she in front of you, she would see terror in your eyes; she is not bothering to look. You can hear the heels of her boots going to the wall, and you hear a rattle as she removes something from a hook. She comes back and you hear a small click as she clips something to your gag harness. Your head is then pulled up, and you know that she has attached a chain to the ring on top of it, and she clips the other end to the ceiling. Your head is now held up uncomfortably, and you twist slightly. You know from experience that the harness is strong and will hold f

Mistress · Bound · Part 1 (1/2)
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