He asked for a brief description of what I want, in general, of what I want from this scene specifically, and what I like. I always feel a little guilty when I add bondage in there, and see that small flicker of regret on his face for that one thing. Rope isn't his thing. Cuffs tend to cut off my circulation before the warm-up is over. It seems like we will never find a common ground that will meet my insatiable appetite for being helpless and squirming while I receive my pain. I post it to a blog, instead of having a conversation.
We go out for coffee to relax. I have tea. It's too hot, so I fix his the way he likes it while mine cools. It's fun, but my thoughts are elsewhere. This is so much like a date! A play, date. I am thrilled. Too soon and not soon enough, we are getting back in the car and headed to the play space. He pulls a duffle bag out of the trunk, old beat up, faded black or navy blue canvas that has seen good, bad, and better days, but still does its job faithfully. I've never seen this bag before. We go back into the house after he has his pre-play cigarette. The bedroom is set up differently than normal, and different than when we left the house. He must have had help when he planned this one! The floor has been cleared to make a huge open space in the middle of the floor, and the mattress has been moved into that space, with only a sheet on it.
For almost all my fantasies I prefer to be blind, but this time is different. I need to see what is in this bag. I want to know exactly what is going to happen to me as it is happening, and I ache to feel my Master's hands on my body.
He has me undress and he says "hush," beginning the scene. I am now under speech, restriction, and am not allowed to speak. I am still in socks, an old pair of panties I hate, and an old worn out sports bra with holes in it. He told me before we left the house to wear underwear I didn't mind throwing away. He directs me to stand at the foot of the mattress, facing it. He is behind me, and I can't help but steal a peek as he unzips the new, old duffle bag. He pulls a leather belt out of the bag. It is cut small for a belt though, maybe half the normal size. It could be a wide leather collar for a very big dog, but is unlikely to fit a person. Eyes forward before he looks up, I only feel him put the strap around my ankles and pull it tight so that my ankles are effectively tied together.
He does this again above and below my knees, and then lightly pushes me forward onto the mattress. His hands were on my thighs, and it was warm and comforting. "Roll over, sit up." The buckles jingle as I move, so far only a little restricted. I mean, I couldn't run away, but rolling over is easy. He reaches into the still mysterious duffle bag and brings out 3 more sets of clinking straps. He does one more strap while sitting on the mattress behind me, pulling my knees up and tightening the belt around my thighs, his arms reaching around me on both sides, keeping me warm.
He pulls my arms behind me, exposing my breasts, at least that's the posture. I'm still wearing a bra. It's a little chilly, but my focus is on him. He tightens a small leather strap around my wrists. "How's that? Too tight?" It's a little loose and I tell him, but he says that's fine, he'll get to it in a minute. He puts another one, a lot tighter, right below my elbows, and I'm amazed my body stretches that far when he straps my arms together directly above my elbows as well. When he reaches past me into the duffle bag for more restraints, he playfully rubs my nipple with the back of his hand, barely touching it. I lean into the caress, and moan lightly.
He pulls a pair of safety scissors out of the bag and uses them to cut my panties off. I try to struggle a bit but he just grabs the highest strap around my arms with one hand and lifts upward until I cant lift myself any higher, and I can't move away from him. He takes the panties, balls them up, and stuffs them into my mouth. Then, since they don't fit all the way into my mouth because of the way they're balled up, he takes a belt and puts it into my open mouth and tightens it down, pushing my panties farther into my mouth, gagging me and holding my mouth open at the same time. "There, now you don't have to hush."
He cuts my bra off, too. He rolls me onto my stomach, and then pulls my ankles up, so that my ankles are touching my thighs.he uses a strap to connect the two restraints together so that I can't unbend my knees. Grabbing my hips, he lifts me up into a sort of triangle position and slides the duffle bag, now with a pillow inside it, under my hips. He lets me down onto it, but he grabs my wrist restraint in the middle so that my wrists aren't touching each other and keeps my arms up in the air with one hand.
My face is pushed down into the mattress, and I am in bliss from the bondage, the absolute control he has over me, and the pain of the position is making me wet, even though my legs are so tight together I couldn't get to my own sex if my hands were free, at least not from the front. I am exposed, and chilly, and helpless beyond my wildest dreams. And a belt lands across my bare butt, interrupting my thoughts. I try to jerk back, to look around, to see what happened, why, and when it's coming next, but I can't move. That hurt! When I stop struggling to pull my arms down, and have taken my first real breath again, the belt lands in exactly the same place. And again. And harder, again. His hand rubs my warm red skin, and I can feel how much he loves me in his touch.
His hand leaves me, but only for a moment. He brings his hand down hard across my ass, and for a second it's a relief that it isn't the belt this time, but after ten or twelve hits the pain is starting to overwhelm me again and I fight against the bondage, I fight against him, I fight the pain, and I lose every time. The pain wins. The hits keep coming, and I am too weak, too tired to fight it. I let it happen, and I accept my helplessness. After eternity has come and gone, and time has stood still and watched my suffering, the spankings stop. The pain keeps washing over me in waves. Tears have run down my face on both sides, and the sheet under my face is wet. The sheet under other parts of me is wet as well.
He lifts me up again, by my knees and hips. He folds my knees under me, moves the bag out of the way, and puts me in pretty much the same position I was in before, except now my knees are under my breasts. He rubs my ass and I'm amazed at how warm I am. His hand reaches down and rubs me and I want to hide how excited I am, but there is nothing I can do. His fingers slip in, just barely, just enough to let me know that he knows that I loved the pain despite all my struggling, tears, and whimpers. He's right. It fulfills me to suffer. Not to experience pain, but to suffer. It fulfills me to experience pain I do not want, and to hate it, while someone else enjoys and inflicts it upon me.
I hear the zipper when he unzips his pants, and I can't keep him out of me. It's so easy, I am already so wet, and he thrusts in, a few deep strokes, all the way. It feels so good, I don't want the pleasure to end, and before I can imagine life any other way than it is right now, he pulls out. The belt hits right where my thighs meet my butt, and if I could I would have screamed, but I don't know from pleasure or pain. Two more hits and then the belt clinks to the floor to my right as he tosses it away. I feel him using my wetness against me. He thrusts in, all the way, one last time, and then uses my wetness as lube for anal. He grabs my arms above the elbows and uses the leverage on my shoulders to pull me back, forcing me to impale myself from the first stroke.
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