The List, Part 11 · Part 2

The List, Part 11 · Part 2 (2/2)
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;I get off on it." I didn't sound convincing even to myself. Its easier to tell an unconvincing truth than it is to tell a convinc- ing lie. Did you ever tell a truth in an unconvincing way because you didn't want it to be believed?

Even though it was true, I couldn't make myself reveal the truth, so my answer sounded like a recitation read from cue-cards. I didn't mind him knowing I liked bondage, I just thought it was degrading for me to have to tell him. "Not good enough." "Please! What more do you want? I've admitted it!" "Admitting it's not enough." "But this is torture," I wailed. "Does it hurt?" "Yes! No! I don't know what you want!" "I want to be convinced. If it's true, convince me. If it's not, say so and I'll stop, untie you and put you in a nice comfortable bed." "But I said it's true! What more do…. Oh No….!" My protest dissolved into a wail as he put more of the stuff on me.

"Now we'll wait for it to take effect," he said. [Editorial insert: Actually, he didn't put more on me, he just pretended to. He told me after proofing this account that instead of waiting for it to take effect he was waiting for me to cool down a bit. We went through several cycles of this, with the pretense that he was anesthetizing me: sometimes he really did, sometimes not (I think); he won't tell me if he really used it again or not. It was really the power of suggestion that did it to me. That, and a little Anbesol. I guess this is Just another mindfuck. Well, the brain is my second favorite organ.] So I squirmed and cried in frustration while I became numb for the second time.

And a third, and a fourth. Each time, using both vibrators alternately and in concert, he brought me to the edge of a climax–and each time he pulled me back again. The last time, I was covered in perspiration. The bed was soaked, and my wig had come off. My eyes were stinging from the salt and makeup. I can't remember what my exact words were that finally convinced him, but they WERE heart- felt in the end. I literally begged. If I could have gotten to my hands and knees and kissed his feet to show my sincerity, I would have. I wanted release from the torture. I wanted it to stop and I wanted that orgasm. I had earned it. As I say, this may not be an exact transcript: "Please!

No more!" I wailed. I thought I was exhausted after the first dose, but by now I had been through four. "I'll do anything! You're right! I want to be tied up! I have to! I want to be used–I want to be filled to overflowing! I don't even WANT an orgasm unless you force me to have it. I can't- I need it that way. I need to be gagged and blindfolded! Please! I'm begging!" And so on, with lots of crying and panting in between. Actually, even though I wouldn't want you to think I wasn't incoherent (say what?), I can't really remember what I said.

Whatever it was, it convinced him that I was sincere: either I had gotten to the point where I sincerely wanted him to stop even without giving me an orgasm, or I wanted one so badly I would say anything, or I really was telling the truth about preferring bondage to straight sex. He had no way of knowing. Actually, it was all three. Anyway, he freed me. Rather than suspending me like he had promised or giving me my promised orgasm, he told me to get on my knees on the bed while he stripped (the vibrators were still inside me) and take him in my mouth. After just a few false starts, I was able to take him all the way down my throat without gagging. I'm getting pretty good at that.

The vibrator in my rear tended to gradu- ally slip out as I worked on him, and he told me to hold them both in while I brought him closer and closer to an orgasm. I still can't have an orgasm easily while kneeling. It helps to flex my legs and straighten them, but I couldn't. He came in my mouth. He had before, over the last month but not when he was actually down my throat. The first spurt went deep down my throat and I swallowed it reflexively. I caught the rest in my mouth. He hasn't ever told me I have to swallow it, but over the last few weeks I have gotten used to the taste–and the idea.

I looked up at him to see his reaction, (looking up was a deliberate infraction of the rules, but what did I have to lose?) and swallowed. He didn't say anything, but I know he knew. I lowered my eyes again. I figured that ought to win me a few points with him. I was incredulous at the time, but he actually made me wait until the NEXT DAY for an orgasm. He could have made love again in a few minutes, or even have used the vibrator on me, but he made me wait until the morning. I was kneeling in front of him after I had swal- lowed, and he bent me over and took the rear vibrator out. He told me to roll over on my back, and he took out the other one.

I was SO sure he was going to finally give me my orgasm then… but he didn't. He told me I would have to wait until tomorrow. My nether lips were swollen and my entire pelvis felt congested and uncomfortable. He waited–and watched–while I got ready for sleep; then he locked me to his bed, both hands to a long chain at the head, one ankle at the foot. I could almost (but not quite) bring my arms down to my waist if I straightened my leg and scooted up to the headboard. I tried after he was asleep. I spent a fairly miserable night, although we went to bed early and I did finally sleep. The next morning he got me up before dawn.

The List Column 1 Item 18

I had cooled down by the next day, but he left instructions before he went to work for me to prepare myself for him. You know the routine. Shower, shave, conditioner, makeup, etc. This time, though, no clothing. Not a stitch. Starting at 5:30, I waited, reading, in the living room. He took me into the bedroom practically the minute he got home and started right in putting straps and belts and constraints all over me. He put a strap around each arm above the elbow and locked my right wrist to my left elbow behind my back, and vice versa.

What followed was a bewildering array of straps around my ankles (held three feet apart by a stiff pole locked to my ankle straps), thighs (upper and lower), and neck (a stiff, high collar that had three buckles to close it in back). There were straps around my chest above and below my breasts, a very wide one around my waist, and two straps that went from the front of the waistband (leaving my sex exposed) under my crotch to join a single wide strap that buckled to the back of the waistband–but only after he had put another device in my rear. This one was a surprise. It was a while before I figured out what it was. Before buckling the back of the belt, he told me to sit on the bed.

He rolled me over and lifted me to a kneeling position with my face and shoulders resting on the bed and my rear in the air, legs held apart by the pole between my ankles. With my arms behind me, there wasn't much I could do to resist. There was no foreplay. He just lubricated his fingers and started loosening me, preparing me for something. When I saw it, I was nonplussed. "What's that?! What are you going to do to me?" Contraptions make me nervous, especially when I don't know what they're for. "It's on the List," he said. "Trust me." Well, it is on the List, but only technically. The 'horse' had been on the List, too: two dildos at once.

That was stretching the intent of the List to the limit. I couldn't make head nor tail of this, though. It looked like a very large condom on the end of a small-diameter rubber hose. "But Master, if it pleases you, I don't remember anything like…" He gagged me. This time it wasn't that horrible rubber ball, but it was still a gag. It was a kind of ring that went in my mouth, held in with a neck strap. The ring just held my mouth open–that's all, just held it open. Sounds simple, but I couldn't make an intelligible sound to save my life. It was humiliating. And I know I must have looked like a drooling idiot with my mouth hanging open. I relaxed a little, though.

He wouldn't gag me if he was doing something that required feedback to avoid hurting me. He inserted the condom-thing into my rear, poking it gently but fully inside me with his fingers–I was left with a rubber tube hanging out of me. He buckled the crotch strap of the 'chastity belt' (unchastity belt?) in back, holding IT (I'll tell you what IT was in a minute) inside me. Then he blindfolded me and started the real show. I was already trussed up pretty securely just lying there on the bed, but he was tying ropes to the rings on the various bits of leather harness that held me. Soon, I felt myself being hoisted: at first it was just my feet being lifted. Then my shoulders and waistband.

Step by step, he hoisted different parts of me up over the bed until I was hanging, suspended, like a kind of horizontal puppet. I was very disoriented, but I'm sure my head was higher than my feet, and I know my legs were held spread apart even after he took off the pole that held my ankles. I was well supported everywhere. There weren't any real pressure points, and my circulation was fine. It was like sitting in a swing, sort of. But something was happening inside me. The device he had put in my rear portal was doing something, seemingly on it's own. I twisted my head blindly from side to side. "Ah ah oh oh!" I said. Ha-ha.

Very funny, I know, but you try saying "What are you doing?" without being able to close your mouth. I was feeling VERY strange down there. The sensation was one of being filled, but from the inside. It was a warm feeling, but oddly familiar. When I finally figured it out, I realized he was filling the condom inside me with warm water through the rubber tubing. The sensation of being filled increased (and increased and increased). I felt much fuller than I ever had with anything else that had been in there. Packed, in fact. Not stretched the way a dildo would have done, just full. My breathing and heart rate began to increase. I guess that technically it was a water-filled dildo?

Meanwhile, I could feel him putting on my nipple cages. That feeling really is exquisite. Then he entered me. I could feel his hands on my hips, steadying me. He was standing on the futon between my legs. I felt a slow stroking motion–I think it was me swinging back and forth rather than him thrusting. Maybe both. I really felt I was floating above the bed, though. Floating and full. (Will she resist the temptation, you ask yourself.) I think not: Floating, full, and f****d. Heh heh. Is that the first time I've used the F word? Shame on me. It'll probably be censored. If you're logging on in California, it may have been censored on its way through the midwest.

They have filters in the phone lines in certain counties. I won't bore you with the rest. I had a few orgasms and lost all sense of orientation in the process. I might have been weightless for all I knew. The most interesting thing was that I was free to try to move in any direction but still constrained. Hanging free, unable to touch anything, but still completely trapped. I couldn't have hurt myself no matter what I did. Like a fly in a spider web. And I like the feeling of being filled–but this way is a little kinky for me. He drained me, freed me, and that was that. Sorry to be so brief about it, but I don't want to dwell on it and you are probably tired of gratuitous sex anyway.

We talked about it afterward, and I found out he had considered leaving the condom inside me. At first I was horrified–didn't he know sea turtles die that way? Digestive systems plugged with party bal- loons? He had put a rubber band around the condom to hold it onto the tubing, but as a safety measure he had passed a piece of string under the band and knotted it around so the condom wouldn't be lost inside me even if it slipped off the tubing.

Then it occurred to him that if the tubing was slipped out deliberately, the rubber band would close the condom and I would still be filled by the condom but unable to expel it; a simple tug on the rubber band would expose enough of the condom that he could burst it with a pin. Which I wouldn't be able to do unless my hands were free. Clever, clever. A little technical for my taste. I'm glad he didn't do it. I think he (correctly) figured what he had done to me was weird enough, even though the newspaper, coincidentally enough, said it was National Condom Week Now there's a parade you don't want to miss….

But I had told him (under duress) that I wanted to be filled up, so I can hardly blame him for being weird. Still, it was weird. But who am I to criticize anyone for unnatural practices. And no, it would not have felt more "natural" if it had been a sheep intestine condom. Despite what the ad on the package says. More natural, hah. For certain guys in certain parts of Tennessee and West Virginia, maybe. Give me artificial any day. Less than a week to go and the month allotted for his turn at Master and mine as slave will be over. -*- It started raining heavily while I wrote down the preceding entry. I went outside and stood in the rain for no good reason.

You know, one of those tropical downpours where it just pours down verti- cally and the trees bend under the weight of water on their leaves. My muslin robe was plastered to my skin. Good excuse for a hot shower and some conditioner, followed by a nice cup of tea in my robe, fresh out of the dryer. Luxury. There has been a lot of rain this Spring. The plants in the garden are loving it.

The List, Part 11 · Part 2 (2/2)
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