Vegas Twelve to One · Part 9 (9/14)
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, mimicking just how you would enter the water at the beach, less the sand. They walk me into the pool far enough so that the water depth is about a foot, then they tell me to sit down in the water. The cooling effect is nice, very nice in fact. They then laid me flat, my body facing up and my head towards the shallower water.
My shoulders and back are resting on the slanted pool bottom, but my head and neck float upwards from a combination of their natural buoyancy and the rubber hood. They adjust my head depth in the water, pushing it downward till it touches the concrete floor, sliding me a little deeper until the water is just reaching the edge of my mouth and nose. When they release their grip, my head floats back up a bit from the pool bottom. The buoy weights I had seen on the tour were then put in service. My arms were released from my side and pulled outward with each one locked to their own block that had apparently been placed beside me. My ankles were connected to one below my feet.
The two side rings of my corset then were connected to one each, laid down on each side of my belly. I pulled, but I had no success moving any of them. One final block is put by the ring on the top of my hood. When they fastened it to the hood my head is then again held to the pool bottom and the water comes up my face to just below my mouth opening. With effort I can lift my head up about an inch allowing my mouth to clear the water a little, but I can’t sustain it over time. I tried again to pull on my other restraints, I was staying just where they put me.
“Open your mouth Cunt,” he says loud enough so I can hear it with my submerged ears. I do and a metal gag is inserted in my mouth. It’s one of those dental gags, this one is a ratchet style type, a Whitehead mouth gag, I think. This one has rubber surfaces on the teeth grippers which helps keep it from slipping free, I know this as I tried to dislodge it with no success. He ratchets it up and my mouth is uncomfortably wide open. I can’t close my mouth nor push out the gag up off my teeth. It also has a neck strap to secure the gag to my head, it is fished under my neck gap and the strap buckled, it’s not coming off. They have done a great job of positioning me; my mouth is just out of the water. A little turbulence and I’ll be taking a drink. They then snapped the blindfold to the hood. Sarcastically it is said that it is to keep the bright sunlight out of my eyes.
I laid there peacefully in the pool, when after about ten minutes the water turbulence I feared came. They had turned on the two pool fountains that were running when I was first shown the house and pool. I have been placed so I was centered between them. Their falling water made ripples in the pool surface, so, every so often I was getting water into my mouth, not a lot, but it did somewhat flood my mouth each time it came. My throat would subconsciously close instantly, and no water would be swallowed. I could expel it by raising my head against its bond, and with a slight turn of the head use the air in my lungs to blow it out.
I swim three days a week at the gym and was a college swimmer years ago. Pool water flowing into the mouth is routine and no big deal for me, it’s why I handled the waterboarding in San Diego without distress. Along with breathing through my nose, I am fine, uncomfortable when I arched up my neck and head against the bond to dispel the water, but fine.
I am left to just lay there for a while. I’ve cooled down from my hot suit experience. The tepid pool water with its gentle turbulence rocking me is pleasant. The suit is not watertight, so I am taking on some water at the ankles, maybe around the neck, but as tight to me as the suit is, it is not much and doesn’t migrate far. It is calming and peaceful in the tight rubber lying in the water, so much so, I could fall asleep, but the open mouth and bubbling waters make that a bad idea. So, no real sleep, but I do get some needed relaxation. I am pretty much left to my own for what turns out to be about a half hour.
My ears are underwater, but still at times I can hear others in the water, but they don’t engage with me, it’s a big pool and I assume they are just cooling off too. There are other sounds, some just muted party talk from people on the deck. You can sense some are snacking and drinking a beer or a glass of wine. Other sounds indicate that I likely am not the only one bound in this outside paradise. And you can also tell by the noises being made that they are not just restrained but are providing services or taking punishments. During this time, I think hard about what has happened to me so far this weekend and I am good with it.
I also know there is also a long way to go, and it is likely to be difficult. Funny, if my tormentor’s intent was to make me feel like I am being consumed by the ocean, that isn’t happening, I’m enjoying the break. I could see how it would be challenging, if not downright terrifying to others.
My rest and contemplation are disturbed with “You want to try something else in the pool?” asked rhetorically by Master (he’s going to do what he wants with me and doesn’t require an answer). I assume they are frustrated by my lack of concern that I will drown in the way I have been placed. He releases me from the buoy-blocks and sits me up, attaches my wrist cuffs to a ring on the back of the corset, and stands me up the rest of the way. They waded me out to deep water. When we reach a depth where water is about at my armpits, what I believe are ‘foam noodles’ are slid under each pit, giving me enough buoyancy to keep my head out of the water. I am taken out deeper where my feet no longer touch the bottom.
I am told to hold my breath, and am momentarily submerged as they move me under a ‘lane marker’ that divides the pool into sections and they bring me back up on the other side of it. I had taken notice of the marker line before as it was one of the commercial grade plastic racing lane line types that you typically see as dividers of community and college swim lanes, not the ‘float buoys every few feet on a rope’ type more common in residential pools. This was being used to provide a demarcation point between the deep-water diving and sliding board area and the rest of the pool.
I am backed up against it so the back of my head rests against the plastic disks, where my head is tied to it using the rings on the hood. The noodles are pulled out from under my arms and my gag opened mouth is now being held out of the water only by my head strapped to the line. I feel someone at my feet and there is a slight pull down as my ankle cuffs are tethered to what I can only assume is a buoy block on the bottom of the pool. En-route back up to the surface, this ‘lifeguard’ rechecks my arms assuring that they remain tied behind my back.
This is a bizarre sensation bound this way, not frightening, but in that family. I know no one here is going to let me drown, but the tightness of the rubber, the helplessness of being in deep water now that I can’t use my hands or pull up my legs, not being able to close my mouth that is so close to the water does unnerve me a tad, despite how aquatically comfortable I am. I was floating there for probably ten minutes when a group of partiers decided it was time to use the pool’s diving board and slide. The crowd is sizable and their regular water entries and departures make for turbulent waters, by design.
And so, for about another ten minutes I combat the flooding and receding of water in my mouth from the onslaught of cannon balls, cherry bombs, and the occasional belly flop. The boys truly are having fun frolicking in the water. The trauma it is causing me, as intended, is just an added pleasure for them. Boys will be boys. A while passes.
Whispered in my ear: “The water here is about seven and a half feet, bob, push up with your feet.” I am still trying to figure out what that meant and why he was calling me Bob when I felt my ankles being released from the buoy, the gag taken out of my mouth and my head unstrapped from the lane line. In a moment I am sinking, and my head is below the water. No one is helping to hold me up, and instinctively I try treading water. My arms are of no use bound behind me and my legs, while doing their best to kick while cuffed together, are not getting my head above water. I continued downward; it didn’t seem far when my feet contacted the pool floor.
It is there where I understand what was said. Push up with my feet, bob in the water. I had gotten a decent breath into my lungs as I went under, so I am not in trouble yet, I bend my knees, and I am able to get a good push up and rocket myself to the surface. I actually used a little too much push, I only need to ascend about two and a half feet. I made such a splash coming up it was tough getting my breath in before slipping back under and traveling again to the bottom. The next push up was better calculated, and I got plenty of air, although my head was only above the water momentarily. They made me stay alive by bobbing up and down for well over five minutes, probably closer to ten, often I would stay on the bottom till I needed air, as it was less effort on my part.
Although not difficult or overly stressful, it was still disconcerting having my arms tied. Also, being blindfolded, my orientation was based solely on my touching the pool bottom. I feared if I didn’t push up square, I could stray sideways unknowingly and not reach the surface. This did not happen. On one of my bobs up, someone grabbed my leg holding me down, the only real struggle with that was I had to return to the bottom and re-push up, now with limited air. It did tell me that there was someone right with me if I was in trouble, at least I hoped that was the case. Eventually, I was refloated with the noodles, taken to the edge of the pool and extracted, my feet then uncoupled, and I was walked to and then laid down on my stomach on one of the nearby chases. Later, I thought that it might have been fun if they sent me down the sliding board into the water, bound as I was.
Given just a minute to catch my breath, someone lubes up my butthole and takes advantage of me. It is a little awkward on the l lounge chair, and he takes leave of me after about five minutes. I imagine my use was more for the want to sexually abuse me than for actually wanting to take my butt for their own sexual pleasure. He was certainly hard, but the strokes seemed more robotic than others had been. My guess, it was a bottom sub told by his master to do me while I was wet and in rubber.
Once he was done with his assignment, I was moved to the gazebo, hands repositioned and the ceiling pulley used to hoist them over my head with a rope. I was not stretched as had become typical but held somewhat loose. My ankles were re-locked together. I was just warehoused here for a while, the real captivity being the clothing I had on which still gave me a likeable bondage mood. I could hear lots of chatter and the smells let me know they were grilling. Part of the group was sitting near me eating. I’m sure it was part of the mind games they were playing with me, as I was fed as they ate, my two squeeze bags of baby food, followed by an energy bar and a bottle of water. Not able to track time, I at least knew we were moving into the evening as I was not overheating so much in my suit as I had been before my pool dip and people were eating dinner.
As the guests and host had their desserts and after dinner chatter, I was taken inside to the wet room by my host sub and another who undressed me which was quite a laborious time-consuming task that took both of them plus my personal assistance to accomplish. I was then subjected to my evening cleansing, which both subs did together as a team, which mortified me even more than before, a fresh shower which I knew I needed, and a re-shaving of my privates. They seemed to be taking their time with each task and considerable time appeared to pass. A good thing, I needed the down time if you can consider these things as such. When they finished their tasks with me, I was moved back into the Dungeon and sat down in front of the Saint Andrew's cross. Wait here, the Masters will be with you shortly. And I sat, hands cuffed behind my back, wondering if I’d be up on the cross soon.
Chapter 16: A New Guest, a Permissible Mistress
{Saturday 7:00 pm – 10:00 pm} A group of the masters, led by their host, I didn’t see Sir Michael with them, entered the dungeon and came directly to me. “Oh, do we have a surprise for you. Let’s get you on the cross so we can get started on making another of your fantasies real, Bitch,” says Master.
I am uncuffed. My feet are put up onto the step pads which are about ten inches off the floor. I am set back till my back contacts the center of the cross. My arms are pulled up to the top cuffs that are attached to a ratchet mechanism, and they secure the cuffs to my wrists. Next my ankles are buckled into the ankle cuffs located above the step pads. Two of the masters then crank the ratchets which pull my wrists upward, effectively stretching my body taut as my ankles are held fast. Working together they then buckle all the remaining leather straps that adorn the cross down my arms, up my legs, and across my body, making me one with the cross, unmovable.
I strain against my bonds but go nowhere. The hold pins on the pads my feet are resting on are pulled releasing the steps, dropping them away and I am effectively suspended and held to the cross off the floor only by the straps and cuffs.
This is the second time I have been bound to a cross like this. Sir Michael had borrowed one from a local friend for my visit to San Diego. There I was thoroughly abused, primarily by stripping. I survived; I wonder what I will be served here. There was just a short wait to find out.
Sir Michael enters the dungeon, and he has a young lady on his arm. He walks her right up to me. “I brought you a present.” She is wearing six-inch stiletto thigh high patent leather boots that lace all the way up the front. There is about four inches of sexy bare skin between the boot tops and the lower edge of her pleated mini skirt with a silver studded waistband that barely covers her privates. An under bust corset, topped with halter shoulder straps squeezes her waist and causes her cute little exposed breasts to thrust forward. Over the elbow gloves adorn each hand and arm. A newsboy flat cap also with silver studs accents her darling bangs and shoulder length dark brown hair.
She completes her ensemble by sporting a matching riding crop in her hand. All of these garments and accessories are made of sensual black leather. She is hot. Oh wow, is she hot. As presented, she is also the spitting image of the character Tiffany Chester, a dominatrix on the cable TV series ‘Bonding’, played by Zoe Levin, who is a 5’5” slender, champagne glass busted, very attractive actress. They could be twins.
I am very unsure about this. My contact is explicitly clear, I’m not to have relations, forced or not, with women. That crosses my morality line. I know it’s a weird line, but that’s where I have decided is as far as I will go. Sir Michael is well aware of this, he is good friends with my wife, I don’t get this, he brought her in. OK, I’m slow on the uptake. New to the contract was a clause about transgender women. No, this couldn’t be. To me, this person is genuinely sexually attractive, desirable, gorgeous. Someone if I was unencumbered, I would want to meet, well more than just meet. And wow, how she is dressed is a super turn on. This couldn’t be a man, could it? I look hard down at her skirt. All is still covered for the moment. I’m confused.
She makes sure I get a good look at her. In a very feminine voice she says, “Hi sweety, you sure look good up there. I love that cock of yours. I’ve been looking forward to playing with you, which is why I came. You’re going to make me a happy girl tonight, aren’t you? Don’t let me down. I read in your journal that you like to be striped when you are on the cross. Well, I’m good at that so I guess you’re going to get just what you enjoy. But first let’s check out your tool, he likes to experience pain too, doesn’t he?” And I am introduced to her riding crop. She hits my cock three or four times. It has gotten a little swollen, thrilled about the outfit that she is wearing.
It is as much of a turn on as is this attractive woman. “Oh, isn’t that nice, I think he’s starting to get excited that I’m here. Look, I’m glad to see him too,” and she lifts her skirt and shows me and the rest of the boys her erect penis.
And I am so relieved she has a dick, even so I still have an unsure conscience. None of the other men made my cock rise like this.
She is not done yet with her crop and makes it dance on and around my nipples. I’ve been whipped by many this weekend, but no one did it with such a sexy sway, almost dancing on her stiletto heels and toes. She switches back to my balls and cock. After a few hits, she raises one of her thin leather clad legs and rests her point heel against my bag. She is gentle. “Don’t worry sweetheart I won’t hurt your precious balls and cock; I want to play with them later, so I don’t want anything broken. I just want you to admire my boots, I wore them just for you, princess.” She removes her heel and adds, “Now let’s see how good you look in candy strips. Who has the single tail?” she says to no one in particular.
My concern and thoughts about my excitement from this person is lost as stinging shoots across my chest. Owww. Then another. Owww. And again, and again. Owwww. “Quiet, my darling, or I’ll have the boys gag you.” I hold my breath in anticipation of each next hit and when it comes, I gasp, then suck in air again and hold. The stinging is not severe, it’s however just within the upper end of pain/pleasure. Certainly bearable. This stinging, not nice, but different from the other whipping I’ve endured. I notice as she travels up and down my chest, stomach, and thighs, she makes sure strips clearly include my nipples, but my balls and cock are spared.
The body acclimates to the assault after a while, and I no longer seem to wince as the strikes land. Well, other than when she hits my nipples, and she never seems to miss them as she travels up and down my body. When she is finally satisfied that I am well colored in long red streaks she puts down her weapon. She then soothingly applies Witch Hazel over everywhere she has laid down strips. This burns initially, especially where the stripping was heavy, but soon turns to a soothing feel. One would say it was applied lovingly, not what I would expect from a dominatrix. But then, she has not been belligerent or harsh in her approach to me. She’s more of a deviant tease.
“I want to see how big my sweetheart’s dick can get, that OK with you?” she asks Sir Michael who is passing by. And with his nod to the affirmative, she starts with a gentle fondling with her leather gloved hand. The leather on my privates provides a blissful, wonderful stimulation, much different from an uncovered hand. This is quite enjoyable but doesn’t come close to what she begins to do with her tongue. The first lick sends a vibration down my spine. She works both in combination, using her glove to concentrate on my sack as she consumes my now grown shaft with her mouth. She provides the perfect combination of pressure, warmth, and wetness. Between her varying tempo, ball play, sucking and deep throating, she is making me go wild.
Visually I am going nuts too, I gaze down from my bound stretched cross at what from my vantage point is a beautiful leather clad woman worshiping my raging cock. There is a warm, pleasurable sensation running through my entire body. This mouth is amazing. She is making me squirm, I am straining against my bonds, the feeling, there is nothing else like it. I’m even tingling in my head. Her mouth is doing so much more than a vagina could do. She is pulling the life forces out of me and I am getting close to a climax. I don’t have and won’t be given permission, I try to pull back, but my body is mostly immobile. She senses the nearing discharge, and slows it down quickly, and then retracts. “Good boy, you hold that cum for later, we have lots more playing to do.”
Oh, did I want to cum. That was fantastic, certainly I didn’t feel submissive. But my mind is not happy with me. Yes, I am bound and couldn’t resist, and yes, I know she has a cock, but on the other hand, I was thoroughly aroused and shouldn’t be. “You tasted good, sweety, you may not have ejaculated, but I did love your pre-cum. And you’re my perfect size, not too long, not too short, not too thick, not too thin, just right. Yeah, that’s right, I’m Goldilocks, and I have a bed that’s just the right size for us too.” I know I didn’t contribute anything to this other than being there, providing her a defenseless rigid cock, but I still liked the praise, especially in reference to my equipment size.
“Hey, you done with him on the cross? I want to do him on the bed,” asked Mistress.
“Well, we wanted to make him sparkle in the dark before taking him down. Is that OK with you? said one of the masters.
“Sure,” she replied. Sparkle? What the hell is that? I was about to find out.
The lights in the area are turned off. It is very dark. I am still strapped tight to the cross. I see two neon tubes light up, one each held by two of the masters. I had never been subject to electro play with a violet wand and I feel my body tense up in anxious anticipation. One device looks like a glowing rake, the other like a neon round spiral. The first one used is the spiral, where it is moved in small circles around my right nipple, held close to but not touching my skin. It gives me a buzzing sensation, like gentle effervescent bubbles tingling as the wand glides across my skin.
I didn’t know what to expect, this is unique, different from other electro play, both the pleasurable and not so pleasurable play I had previously experienced. You can hear a quiet buzzing sound also. This is quite intriguing. There is a beautiful violet electrical glow playing over my skin. The deep purple neon light sparkles in the darkness. I’m experiencing teasing pain in color. It now feels almost like prickly tickling. He expands his exploration with the wand to my other breast, then most of my chest. As he moves to my privates the tingling feels more intense there, getting more like a static shock you receive when you touch a metal doorknob. There are oohs and aahs like you hear at firework shows, it is captivating my gathered audience as he glides over me. I’m putting on a well-rounded show for them as my body begins to buck at the unpleasant irritation of my sack.
The second wand is now brought into play. This one is even more intense, more painful in the pleasure/pain scheme of things. The current stays near my skin surface and doesn’t penetrate deeply into my body as regular electro play does. The rake is adjusted and now the intensity is getting close to the feel of a sharp knife combing across my skin. Despite the pain it is causing me, the purple neon color dancing across my body in the darkness has such an artistic play in my mind I am able to endure this and even enjoy it. So are the watchers, they are still enjoying the show. The raker adjusts the tone down a bit and it moves closer towards the pleasure range, an acceptable pain/pleasure level. He explores my entire body, while the spiral wand holder is now concentrating on my balls and cock.
The audience has seemed to grow as I hear even more oohs and aahs from the gallery. I’m a miniature lightshow, real entertainment as advertised. The show isn’t overly long, but the players want the ending to be memorable to me and the crowd, so the spiral is turned up and placed very close to my erect nipples, providing bright colorful sparks between the wand tip and my nipples. I screech out and buck at my bounds at the unexpected and sudden concentrated pain, receiving approving applause from the gathering. This is a group who likes to see strict bondage coupled with abuse and suffering, this time with a little color and artistry. They got what they came to see.
As the lights were brought back on, they released me from the cross, a welcome relief to my shoulders and arms which had begun to ache and cramp from their stretched upward positions. I am moved over to the bed as previously requested by the Mistress. Here, I am bound on my back in the center of the mattress with my arms spread to the mattress sides, wrists cuffed in leather and secured to the bed sides. My legs kept together, ankles cuffed also in leather and then stretched to the bed’s tailboard and secured. A collar with D-rings is added to my neck, and it is tied off to
