by Jennifer Harrison
We had been dating for a month or so when we had ‘that’ conversation. No, not the ‘where do you think this relationship is going’ conversation, the one the woman always starts, the other one.
"Ashley," he said, putting down his glass of wine and leaning over the dinner table, "I think we need to talk about what each of us really wants from the other. Sexually, I mean."
I looked at him, trying to keep the alarm from showing on my face, but that was what I was feeling. We had had sex, obviously, we'd been going out for over a month! What was wrong? Was he not satisfied with me? By me? Did he want to do something… filthy?
"Okay," I replied warily, "you go first." He smiled back at me and put down his glass, before steepling his fingers. I expected him to say ‘no, no, you first’, but I realised that that would be indecisive on his part and, if there was one thing I knew about him, it was that he was not indecisive. He knew what he wanted, and he wasn't afraid to go after it. But he didn't breathlessly or nervously blurt out what he had to say, he was completely in control of himself.
"I like you a lot, Ashley," he began, once more starting alarm bells ringing in my head - was there a ‘but’ to follow that statement? "You are attractive, intelligent, witty, good company. But I need to tell you something." Here it comes, I thought, ‘it's been nice knowing you but…’
"The fact is that I have a definite predilection for dominating women," he said calmly. I just about managed to stop my jaw sagging open, but the look of shock on my face must have been a picture. He maintained his gaze, staring directly into my eyes, not a flicker of concern on his face. I took a deep swig of my wine.
"What I want to do with you sexually involves tying you up, removing any ability for you to resist or demur, you would have to trust me completely. My objective would be to take my pleasure, of course it would, I'm only human. But it would also be to give you pleasure such as you have never known, through experiences you may have dreamed of but never thought could become real. I want to fulfil your fantasies as well as mine, Ashley."
As I raised my glass to take another drink, I saw that my hand was shaking. What he had just said shocked me to my core, and my immediate reaction was to tell him I was leaving, I wanted nothing more to do with him and his perverse desires. It's what my upbringing was telling me to do - you don't let a man talk you like that, they should be respectful and value your opinion. But I realised that the fact was, he was not being disrespectful, not treating me as if I was cheap and easy. The sincerity in his voice and manner was manifest, I believed he didn't just want to abuse me.
I was not unfamiliar with the concept of bondage, domination and submission as possible flavours of a sexual relationship, but I didn't consider myself to be submissive. In fact, in my working environment, I would say that I was assertive. So the idea of such things had not really impinged on my consciousness too much.
I realised that I was looking down at my hands, lost in my own thoughts. I looked up at him and stared into his eyes again, trying to assess if what he said was genuine, and also whether it was possible that he could indeed fulfil my fantasies…
"So tell me, Ashley," he continued, his voice level, his manner controlled, "tell me about your fantasies."
I felt my face blush hotly, and I realised that my throat was dry, despite all that I had drunk. I took another sip, trying to marshal my thoughts, currently flitting about in my head, forming no coherent picture, and certainly not forming any words I could speak. The silence stretched out, and he made no attempt to fill the void. He was waiting for me to respond, and I was sure that he would wait all night if he had to.
"I… I… there is one… one particular fantasy… you’ll think I'm crazy… sick… perverted…"
What was wrong with me? Like he just said, I’m attractive, intelligent, witty, I'm also confident and successful! So why am I reacting like a stupid schoolgirl? I sat up straight and looked him in the eye again.
"Yes, I have a sexual fantasy," I said firmly, almost aggressively, "I fantasise about being abused by strangers, I don't know them and they don't know me. I'm unable to resist them, unable to cry for help, all I can do is endure the embarrassment and humiliation. They're not raping me, just… touching, groping. They don't care whether I enjoy it, what they do to me… it's very… impersonal." My voice trailed off, overcome by the power of the image before my mind’s eye. With a slight shake of the head, I dismissed it and focused on him once again.
"There, is that perverted enough for you?" I challenged.
"Thank you for sharing that with me, Ashley," he said, and it sounded sincere, "that can't have been easy."
I drank some more wine to quell the nerves which had started to make my hands shake again. "So how are you going to fulfil that fantasy?" I asked with a laugh, "I bet you were hoping for something a bit simpler!" He picked up his own glass and smiled at me over it.
"Well, I don't think I can satisfy it tonight," he joked, "but give me time. And in the meantime…"
He took me upstairs and, to coin a phrase, we ‘fucked like bunnies’! Bondage became a key part of our sexual activity, and I quickly came to love both the feel of the ropes and gags, and the freedom they gave me. That may sound paradoxical, but being bound meant that I no longer had to say ‘please don't do that, it's not right’ or ‘I'm sure I'm not going to like that’. When I was tied up and gagged, I had no choice, he could and would do whatever he wanted with me.
Having said that, he never pushed me too far. I wouldn't say he didn't take me beyond my limits, because he gradually expanded my limits, little by little, taking things a little further each time, giving me a tiny amount more physical and mental discomfort, even a little more pain than the last time.
One thing which I appreciated was that he never tried to take his domination of me outside of the sexual arena. We played hard in the bedroom (for ‘bedroom’, read anywhere inside, and sometimes outside, the house), but he was perfectly amiable, considerate and kind in any other setting. I could present him to my friends and family without any concern that he might do or say anything inappropriate.
And then came that one, special night.
It was a perfectly normal Saturday, we had been shopping together, sat in a cafe chatting in the afternoon, taking an early dinner at one of our favourite restaurants, before going home to what I hoped would be a night of spectacular love-making. I got far, far more than I bargained for!
It started like many other sessions, the two of us climbing the stairs, arm in arm, and then, when we got to the bedroom, he assumed his dominant persona, sat in the large wicker chair and told me to strip. As I slowly and deliberately shed my clothing, I could feel my heart racing in anticipation, wondering what new delights and torments he had in store for me.
When I was naked, I knelt before him with my hands on my head, as he expected, and waited as he ran his eyes over me, mentally devouring me, making me feel like the most desired woman in the world and stoking my already sky-high arousal.
Eventually, he stood up and walked over to the chest of drawers, opening the top drawer and taking something out.
"Stand up and put these on," he commanded, handing me what looked like a pair of jet black stockings. As I took them, I could feel they were made of a rubbery material - latex! This was something new! I pulled them on with difficulty, gradually working them up my legs until they finally stopped just above mid-thigh. They clung to me, and I could feel them squeezing the flesh in their tight embrace. I certainly wouldn't need suspenders to keep them up!
When I had finished, I looked up at him and saw that he was holding out a pair of shoes for me to put on. Shiny red patent leather with large platform soles and incredibly high heels, they were not like any I had ever worn before, and I struggled into them, having to sit on the edge of the bed whilst I fastened the straps around my ankles.
Once again, he was ready with more, this time handing me what looked like a red corset with black laces. As I stepped into it and pulled it up my body, I realised that it would only cover me from just above my hips to just under my breasts.
"Turn around and hold the rail of the bed," he ordered. When I did so, he gradually and methodically worked on the laces, inexorably squeezing my waist tighter and tighter until I was gasping for breath, partly due to the restriction but mainly due to my excitement. When he had all of the slack removed, he tied off the laces and closed the panel which kept them tidily out of sight.
Now he was holding out a glove, telling me to put it on. It was also made of black latex, and it reached to almost my shoulder. But I quickly realised that it wasn't a glove, there were no thumb or fingers in it, just a mitt for my hand, ending at a point with a metal ring attached. Once I had it in place on my left arm, he stepped forward and put the other one on my right arm. There were straps at the tops of the ‘gloves’ which he fastened, meaning that I would not be able to remove them myself. He had me put my arms behind my back and, moments later I heard a soft click as he joined the two rings at the end of my hands together, trapping my arms behind me. My level of arousal went up again.
When he returned from the chest of drawers the next time, he was carrying another piece of latex, one which, after a few moments examination, I realised was a hood. He placed it on the bed and took hold of my hair, tying it up in a high ponytail. I felt him doing something with my ear, pushing something into it, then doing the same to the other. Suddenly, I could see his lips moving but there was no sound – I was deaf! While I tried to come to terms with that, he was fitting the hood over my head, pulling the ponytail through a hole in the top, until it covered my face.
Once it was in place, I realised that there were holes for my mouth, nostrils and eyes, although the eyeholes were covered by a clear material, so that I was looking at the world, and at him, from behind the mask. I felt the tight rubber clinging to every part of my face and head, squeezing, never letting me forget that it was there. I was struggling to breathe by this time, as I began to realise just how much I was being deprived of my personality - I was literally faceless now, just an anonymous female body, and it was making me dizzy with arousal.
By the time I could focus again, he was standing in front of me, holding a gag. But this was like no gag I had worn before. There was a thick, black, curved rubber plate, with a short penis-shaped protrusion on the inside and a tube ending in a bulb on the outside. It was to be held in place by three thick rubber straps. He brought it up to my face and pushed the phallus between my lips, the curved surface of the gag covering me from just below the nose to the point of my chin and across both cheeks. I felt the straps being buckled and then pulled tight, then tighter still until the gag was pressing hard against the hood, forming a perfect, airtight seal.
He stood in front of me and took the bulb in his hand, pumping it. As he did so, I felt the penis inside my mouth expand, filling the space and forcing my tongue down, pinning it to the floor of my mouth as my jaws stretched to accommodate the foul-tasting device. I tried to cry out that I couldn't take any more, but I knew that only the smallest sound actually came out of me. It seemed to be enough, though, as he ceased pumping and, after a small adjustment, remove the tube and bulb, leaving the gag fully inflated.
He visited the drawers again, and I became fearful of what would be next. This time, he returned with what I recognised to be a posture collar, once more in thick, black rubber with the same heavy straps. In order for him to position it around my neck, I had to raise my chin until I had difficulty looking ahead at him. When he had buckled it tightly in place, I realised I could no longer move my head from side to side or up and down, the collar was so tight and restrictive.
He took my arm and led me across the bedroom, positioning me in front of the full-length mirror. With some difficulty, I looked at myself in the mirror and was overcome with shock. That wasn't me! It was a full-size human doll in black and red, leaving exposed only pale breasts and buttocks, and a tangle of curly black hair. I moaned into the gag again, not knowing whether it was in the least bit audible except as a resonance in my head.
He stood behind me and, as I watched, raised the blindfold which quickly obscured my sight and, within moments, locked me in a dark, silent world. I tried to scream this time, but I knew that the only sound which I emitted was the whistling of air from my nostrils. I was trapped in my own world, and I knew that, to the world outside, I was completely unrecognisable. I felt something trickle down my thigh…
I felt him take me by the arm again, leading me out of the bedroom and, very carefully, down the stairs. He walked me through the house and then I felt a rough surface beneath the shoes, plus the air was much cooler, making me guess that we had moved into the garage. My arms were now free, and he positioned my latex-covered hands on a surface in front of me, making me bend over slightly. He lifted my leg and helped me to kneel on the surface, before guiding me to lie down on my side.
The surface was scratchy on the few areas of bare skin which came into contact with it, and then I felt a change in the air pressure around me. He was no longer touching me, and I reached out blindly with my fingerless hands. There was some kind of hard surface in front of me and, more worryingly, above me. I was in some kind of box. As I stretched out to find surfaces above my head and below my feet, I knew it was a rather irregular shape and, with a flash of inspiration, I guessed I was in the trunk of the car! Moments later, I felt vibrations coming through the floor and the ‘box’ moved. I was being driven away!
My intense arousal was now tinged with fear - where were we going, what was going to happen? I began to doubt the trust I had placed in my lover. I don't know how long the journey lasted, but I spent the time in recrimination, cursing myself for my stupidity, but also hoping that I was wrong, that he really did have my best interests at heart, however awful things currently seemed.
Eventually, the movement stopped, the vibrations ceased, and I guessed we had reached our destination. I nearly had a heart attack when I felt a hand on my arm without any prior warning - with no sight or hearing, I felt incredibly vulnerable.
He helped me out of the boot of the car and led me across what I assumed to be open space, as I felt a warm breeze on the naked parts of my body. Then there were a couple of steps, more walking, a few turns, and then we stopped again. He let go of me, and I dare not move for fear of falling over something, even though my instinct was to run for my life.
I felt him grip my arm and lift it until it was horizontal. I felt something being wrapped around my wrist, something hard, it felt like the links of a chain biting into me through the latex. My arm was released, but it was held there by the chain, which must have been linked to a wall, or post, or something. This was repeated on my other arm, and now I was standing with my arms chained out to either side, the chains short enough that I could hardly move my shoulders.
My feet were moved on the floor until they were about shoulder-width apart, and then chains were attached to them too, again short enough to prevent me moving my legs closer together. I recoiled as much as I could when I felt hands on my latex-covered head, and I quickly found my ability to move my head and body even more restricted, making me believe that another chain had been attached to the D- ring I had earlier seen on the top of the hood.
All I could do now was move my hips, but even that freedom was quickly denied me as chains were wrapped around each of my thighs, holding me tightly in place. I was now virtually immobile as well as blind, deaf and dumb.
Once the chains were locked in place, I was left untouched. I had no way of judging how long elapsed, but it felt like a long time. Cut off in my inner world, my mind drifted, the fears, cares and worries about my predicament gradually fading, and I began to think about my fantasy. I was completely isolated, unable to communicate or receive communication from the outside, anonymous and dehumanised to anyone looking at me, and I knew that this was the perfect realisation of my fantasy. All it needed now…
I jumped, as much as was possible, when I felt his hand on my breast, fondling the nipple, which was firm and erect. Then his other hand on my other breast… then a hand on my buttock… then a hand on my stomach…
Finally, realisation struck me like a lightning bolt. These couldn't all be his hands. Maybe none of them were his hands! I began to pull on the chains holding me while screaming into the gag, my mind completely freaking out at what was happening. And then, when I felt a hand cup my sex and fingers drive into me, my whole body seemed to explode in the most violent and amazing orgasm I had ever known.
The hands continued to grope, to probe, to pinch and pull, even to scratch across my increasingly sweaty flesh. I tried to count them, to work out how many people there might be, but they moved and slid around so much that it was impossible. There were definitely at least four people, but it could have been more, and it could have been different people at different times, I had no way of knowing.
The disembodied hands forced me to cum, again and again, for what seemed like hours, until I was exhausted and held up only by my bondage. There was a lull, I was no longer being touched, and I thought that my ordeal was over. But a moment later, I felt the slap of the fronds of a flogger strike me across the breasts.
Now my torment began in earnest, paddles being applied to my buttocks, a cane swiping down on my inner thighs before working its way up to tap against my labia. It was the most intense punishment session I had ever endured, he had never done anything so extreme to me as this… not until now, at least. And yet I continued to climax, fantasy and reality forming the perfect explosive combination.
I can't say how long it lasted, or remember anything about the journey home. I just remember him lying me on the bed and gradually releasing me, making me human again. I stank of sweat and sex, but I was too tired to even get off the bed when I was finally free. He simply pulled a sheet over my naked body, kissed me on the forehead, and left me to recover. I was asleep before the door closed.
He had filmed the entire event, from my being chained to my eventual release, as I collapsed on my hands and knees in the middle of the bondage club, still surrounded by the members who had been working on me for the previous two hours.
Now, I love to watch it, although he only allows me to do so whilst in some kind of extreme bondage and he is ‘playing’ with me. I watch it as often as I can…
He has threatened - or is it promised - to do another such event in the future, even more extreme, he says, although I don't see how it could be. But I'm prepared to wait and see. I'm prepared to trust him. Completely.
Copyright© 2014 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.