Gromet's Plaza
Bondage Stories

Captivated
by M

© 2005 - M - Used by permission

storycodes: M/f; bond; D/s; pony; cons; X
Captivated by M

He puts the key in the heavy silver lock and turns it.  With a click the hasp pops open and he swings the weathered wooden door open.  The shed smells of wet earth and sweat.  Sunlight streams in, illuminating his prisoner.  She is naked, standing spreadeagle on the soft dirt floor.  Her hands disappear at the wrist into thumbless leather mittens, secured at the wrists by buckled straps.  From the buckles hang shiny brass locks.  At the end of each mitten is a silver ring to which a cable is attached with a snaplock.  The cables angle upwards to pulleys mounted in a dark wooden support beam, then down to heavy weights resting on the earthen floor.  When the door opens the captive, knowing what is to come next, pulls desperately to free her arms but only succeeds in raising the weights a few inches off the ground.  She has tried to do this many times today, and each time gravity wins over her weakening muscles and her arms are pulled inexorably away from her until she is once again stretched taut. 

Yet again she slumps in defeat.  From behind he slips a black blindfold over her eyes.

Dust and dirt cover her from her leather harnessed head to her buried bare feet.  Her body is shiny with sweat.  It runs in white rivulets down her back, striping her rounded buttocks and muscular legs until it drips into the black mud enfolding her feet to the ankles.  A chain rises from the mud, connected at one end by heavy leather shackles locked to her ankles, and at the other to an eyebolt set in the wall. She pulls one foot out of the sucking mud the few inches the chain allows.  He watches as, unable to free herself yet again, it drops back down into its slick prison.

Methodically he checks her restraints – the ballgag harness locked onto her head, keeping her silent – the mittens and ankle cuffs keeping her immobile.  She shakes and quivers, knowing the pattern by heart for he has done this same ritual with her a half-dozen times today.  He lets his hand run over her upturned breasts, slick with drool and sweat, then down her belly to eventually brush against her sex.  She is shaved clean.  He pauses briefly but doesn’t explore.

He pulls a latex glove from a nearby box on a shelf.  He holds up his hands near her ear and lets her hear him pull it on, snapping it for effect when he is finished.  A low moan escapes the red ball gag, along with a long ribbon of drool.  He watches it as it reaches down to her navel in slow motion.  She knows what he will do with the drool and she forces more from the depths of her silenced mouth.  He rubs his gloved fingers in the wetness, gathering a fresh strand from her lips.  Moving behind her, he parts her buttocks with one hand and presses the lubricated finger of his other hand against her anus.  Her futile thrashing ceases as she devotes her full concentration to allowing her most private opening to be penetrated.  She had resisted the first few times but now she knows she can not stop him.  Her resistance vanishes along with his finger.  He counts to sixty as he saws the finger in and out of her. The discomfort is mild, the humiliation infinite.

Withdrawing his fingers from her, he removes and disposes of the glove.  Her writhing intensifies with the knowledge of the next step.  He watches her movements, marveling at the muscles as they twist and contort under her filthy skin.  Now he reaches for this sessions tool: a black riding crop with a leather thong at its end.  He tests it on his hand, his pants leg, a nearby beam.  Each time, his captive flinches thinking it is her skin.  Patiently he waits until her body relaxes; she is unable to struggle for any length of time.

Stepping slightly away from her, he delivers five expert blows to her right buttock, adding five red stripes to the many white ones created by the sweat.  Muffled yelps of pain fill the shed, and when his captive whips her head from side to side drool spatters the worn gray wooden walls.  These spatters join many more which have dried in the past hours.

After the five, he stops to let her recover briefly though the pause only serves to heighten the fear and expectation of the next round.  He knows this and waits patiently as she gets her breathing under control.  Soundlessly he steps to her left and delivers the second set of five strokes to her quivering dirty flesh.  Her yelps become screams, buried in leather and rubber.  Now finished, he hangs the crop up next to the dozen or so other punishment tools hanging on the wall.  While his captive comes back from her journey into pain, he takes a water bottle down from a shelf.  He takes a quick pull from it, then squirts some into the mouth hole of the captives gag harness.  She drinks, carefully but greedily, as much as she can.  He empties the rest into the black mud around her feet.

She now hangs in her restraints, chin down, totally defeated.  Crystal ribbons of drool glint in the sunlight as they fall from her pink lips to her stomach.  Her toes dig into the sensuous dark mud and, unseen in their leather sheaths, her hands clench and unclench in the vain hope of release.  Six times he has done this now and she knows there will be more.  She can’t stop it. 

He comes up close to her right ear.  He says the same words she has heard six times before.

“You will have three seconds to answer my question.”

He unsnaps the gag and pulls the shiny wet rubber ball from her glistening lips.  Helplessly, muscles relax and she urinates onto the ground.  The soft splashing drains her of the last of her control.

“Have you had enough?”

“One more time,”she croaks quickly and he pushes the glistening gag once more into her mouth. The snap clicks home and she is silent again.  From another shelf he pulls down a glass jar.  From the jar he extracts one of several dozen scraps of paper.  On it is the number “120".  He clucks his tongue in sympathy as he puts the jar back on the shelf, letting the scrap fall into the wet dirt.  He doesn’t tell her how long she will have to wait for him to return.  That, he feels, would be cheating.

From another shelf he retrieves a small black box.  Inside are two golden bells attached to spring clips.  He pulls out the bells and, holding them next to her ears, rings them merrily.  The sound electrifies the captive and she pulls with all her might, getting the weights nearly a foot off the ground before gravity wins again.  He takes one of her sweaty, dusty nipples and applies the clamp to it gently. She has no more resistance to offer and submits to the bite meekly.  He repeats the process with her other nipple.  He does no more with them – the real fun will come when he returns in two hours to give her ten more strokes.  

Then the bells will ring with great vigor.

He steps behind her and removes her blindfold.  He swats her red and white striped ass as he turns to leave.  Dust motes rise in the sunlight.  When she looks around to see him, the outside light blinds her.  She watches as the door closes slowly, returning her to the darkness of captivity.  She hears the rattle of the hasp and the crisp click of the lock.  His footsteps recede into the distance.  She tries for the hundredth time to bring her hands together so she can remove the snaplocks.  Her muscles strain and pull but she is weakening and loses the battle after only a couple of inches.  She sags in her restraints and gathers her energy for another try – maybe later.  She wonders what the number was this time. Her world returns to discomfort and darkness but now the silence is broken with the tinkling of bells.

Two and a half hours later, he steps out from the shed.  In his hand is a brown leather leash and as he walks into the yard, a creature on the end of the leash crawls out by his leg.  She is dirty brown with dust and mud, a black leather harness strapped around her face and head. Her mouth, though unsealed, is occupied with carrying her master’s black leather crop.  Her clenched teeth and lips drip with long strands of silvery spit.  Her hands are locked in thick leather cuffs, joined with short, silvery chains.  Her ankles are similarly bound.  From her pert breasts hang golden bells that tinkle merrily, making a much softer sound than they did just minutes earlier when he gave her ten blows from the leather flogger.  Now they tinkle, but before they positively pealed.

From between the rounded globes of her reddened buttocks, a long, beautiful tail of wavy black horsehair fountains. Empty of all resistance, she had patiently endured the thorough lubrication of her anus and submitted soundlessly when he eased the horsetail buttplug into her.  Now she crawls on hands and knees at his side as he leads her onto the soft grass of their front lawn.  The horsetail waves back and forth as she struggles to maneuver with him.  The bells shine in the sun, making a sound like windchimes.

He walks in a slow circle around the lawn, his captive keeping up with him with some difficulty.  Only once does he have to use the crop that she reluctantly allows him to take from her clenched teeth.  The correction is brief but startling and she keeps up with him after its application.  He walks to the center of the lawn and directs her to kneel facing him.  She does so and stares up at his face, waiting for directions.  She is tired and weak and submits herself to his will, trusting their love.

“You know what to do,” he encourages her, looking directly into her eyes.  Quickly her shackled hands come up and unzip his fly.  She reaches in and draws out his sex.  Without hesitation, she takes the rapidly engorging penis into her leather-encircled mouth.  In no time he is fully erect and begins to slowly thrust in rhythm with the oscillating motions of her head.  He motions for her to drop her hands and, seizing the leather head harness, begins to fuck her mouth on his own.  His orgasm is long and satisfying, filling her mouth with volleys of his seed.  She swallows dutifully, not caring for the taste but reveling in the pleasure she has given her master.

Finished, he arranges his clothing.  He helps her to her feet and unlocks her restraints, removing them from her body.  With much giggling on both their parts, he pulls the buttplug from her ass by the tail – she yelps as it leaves her body. He picks her up and carries her to the house.  She will be bathed and shampooed, fed wine and steak, and put to bed.  That night she dreams of bells and horses and the pull of gravity. Overnight, she becomes human again.       
 

12.10.05

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