(Author’s note: Hi, this is something I have written as a stand alone story. For those of you who have read “Ingrid’s Proposal” I am continuing that story and will be posting more in a few weeks. You can contact me at maid2btied at gmail dot com if you would like to comment on either story. Enjoy, Gabriella.)
I check the address on the invitation again as the cab pulls away leaving me standing alone on a deserted street. The invitation was elegant; like one you would get for a wedding, black cursive script on a white card. It read;
You are formally requested to attend an audition for the position of sex slave.
Friday October 29 at 9 o’clock PM
#313 501 Broadway Ave. East
Business Attire.
The address turns out to be a large old red brick four storey warehouse probably dating back to the 1920’s. It is on the wrong edge of a section of downtown that was undergoing gentrification. The south side of the building borders an on-ramp to the elevated freeway that provided a gritty urban background drone of traffic noise. A railway spur ran down the east side separating the building from the murky water of the river. I look up and down the darkened street. All the businesses along the commercial strip are closed and locked with heavy steel shutters or grills. The lights of a new condo complex glow warmly a few blocks in the distance. They signal the boundary into the “good” part of the downtown. It is too far away for me to risk walking and there are no cabs around, any traffic in fact. I decide heading into the building to whatever awaits in Unit 313 is a better option.
It had been turned into a rabbit’s warren of studios and lofts mainly catering to the visual arts community. The occupant’s listing near the door is peppered with photographers, artists and a few seamstresses. I find the unit number and rang the buzzer. There is no response other than the clicking of the lock. I pull the door open quickly and step into the small dingy foyer, relaxing a bit as the door closes heavily behind me and the lock clicks home. Turning to see my reflection in the darkened window that ran up one side of the doorway I give myself one final appraisal. I want to make sure you will be pleased with my appearance.
I’d done research into what might be appropriate business attire for this sort of activity. Let’s face it; I am not going into a meeting with clients at the office. I felt I had done a reasonable job of duplicating the “sexy business woman” look from some porn sites I found with surprisingly little difficulty. Really the look should be called “slutty business woman”. The navy blue linen business suit is too tight on my tall curvy figure to be appropriate true office dress. A white silk blouse clings to my full breasts. I giggle nervously as I undo a couple of buttons on the blouse, exposing more cleavage than I normally would. My skirt is tight and short. The round mounds of my ass are prominent as the tight linen stretches across my derriere. Standing the hem falls to well above my knees; when I sit the skirt rides up my thighs displaying a lot of leg. My 5’6 frame was boosted to almost 5’9” by the stiletto heeled black pumps I wore.
I lean in a little closer to the glass to check my make-up. I hope no one was standing out on the darkened street as I must look funny; apparently staring out into the blackness while making odd facial expressions. My olive complexion compliments the scarlet lip gloss. I wear no foundation or blush but did have on mascara and my brown eyes were outlined with a thin line of black eye liner. My dark brown hair is rolled into a bun at the back of my head. My neck looks longer as a result of my hair being swept up instead of falling around my shoulders in ringlets as I usually wore it. I wonder if you will put a collar me as I dab a tiny bit of perfume onto my neck. I nervously brush my hands over my suit to smooth everything out. I look as good as I am going to. Not for the first time I found myself hoping you would be satisfied.
Who are you? I think as I begin to climb the stairs to the third floor. You know so much about me from our e-mail exchanges but you had revealed nothing about yourself. You even had photos of me, nudes; ones that I had taken myself standing awkwardly in front the small digital camera with the self timer as you ordered. You obviously know where I live as you had mailed the invitation to my home address. The thought crosses my mind as I climb the staircase that I actually didn’t know if you were a man or a woman. Your e-mails were certainly written as if you are male but I didn’t know for certain. Your e-mail address gave no hint and you only signed your notes to me as “A”.
My trepidation grows as I get to the third floor. It must have been one large open expanse at some point but now it is split up in various units. The floor is heavily worn hardwood and the plaster on the walls bears the dents and scratches of years of use. Most of the doors are heavy steel that give no hint as to what was going on behind them. It was quiet now though. The only sound is the humming coming from a string of florescent lights that run down the center of the hall. Several tubes are burnt out and some flicker on the verge of going out. The floor creaks as I walk slowly looking for #313. I wrap my arms protectively around myself as butterflies take flight in my belly. It was hard to believe this was happening.
I am scared but I need this. I suggested bondage to some of my lovers and was surprised that the reactions ranged from tolerating to refusing altogether. While I enjoyed being bound by those who did indulge me, it never lived up to my fantasies. They were just too novice at it and were mainly interested in getting through the bondage part and onto the intercourse part. As one put it to me so sensitively; “All that tying up stuff takes too long”. Finding you through a locally based BDSM chat room gave me opportunity to experience bondage at the hands of a skilled dom. The months we’ve spent on line with each other led me to this dark and empty warehouse. This session is just a test, an audition. There was the promise of more if I passed. Finally I here I am standing in front of #313.
The door is open a few inches. I decide to knock.
“Enter”. It is a male voice. I step through the door. “Close and lock it” you order. I do and turn back to face the room.
There isn’t much to see. The space seems huge and largely empty. The ceiling is high with heavy exposed wooden beams. The wall opposite me was rough brick to waist high. Massive banks of led pained windows rose from there to the ceiling offering a view of the underside of the elevated highway. The only light came from a ring of halogen spots that were all angled to focus at one point on the floor. The rest of the space was shrouded in dark. My eyes are drawn to the far corner of the room, on the opposite side of the lighted circle from me. I see you for the first time, really just a shadow in the far corner. The black balaclava you are wearing masks your identity from me. I hug myself a little tighter as apprehension mingles with anticipation. I look back into the lights, unable to meet your stare.
A heavy wooden table and chair stand just on the edge of the pool of light. Several coils of thick rough hemp rope are laid out on the table along side a cat o’nine tails and a riding crop. There is also what looks like a leather drawstring sack lying there as well. This definitely looks serious. A hook hangs from a length of heavy chain that disappears up into the darkness. There are heavy rings bolted to the floor. I start to fidget with the strap of my purse and nervously tug the hem of my skirt, futilely trying to show less leg. I think I am supposed to be doing something but I don’t know what.
“Stand under the hook”.
I obey and step into the ring of light and stop under the hook which hangs about a foot above my head. Now I am blinded by the halogen spots and can’t see anything beyond the lights. Nothing happens for a while. I feel awkward, unsure of what I am supposed to do. Finally after what seems to be an eternity you speak again.
“Remove your jacket, blouse and skirt and place them on the chair.”
I hesitate for a second shocked at myself that I am quite willing to strip in front of an unseen stranger. I slip off the jacket and hang it over the back of the chair. As I do I see the strong wooden frame of the chair and wonder if you are going to tie me to it at some point. I fumble with the buttons of the blouse as I am trembling slightly. Finally the blouse joins the jacket on the chair. I have better luck with the zipper on my skirt and step out of it quickly. I straighten up and self consciously cross my arms over my breasts.
“Place your arms behind your head and lace your fingers together.” I comply and suddenly feel very exposed, very vulnerable.
“Push your elbows further back, stick your tits out and spread your legs” I move them shoulder width apart. “Further”
I move them as far apart as I dare wearing these high heels. Now I am feeling really exposed standing in my underwear. Again following the examples on the porn websites what I am left wearing has gone well past sexy and deep into slutty. The cups of the bra are red nylon covered with a web of black lace. It’s very low cut, designed to be worn under outfits with plunging necklines. The top edge of each demi-cup plunges in a deep arc across my breasts, just barely concealing the top edge of my areoles. The two cups join together deep in my cleavage, exposing a lot of skin. My dark and currently erect nipples push out against the sheer material. The position you’ve ordered me to assume forces my full breasts up and out. They threaten to spill out over the tops of the bra cups.
The black thong is really more decorative than functional as there isn’t much of it. It matches the bra; red form fitting nylon covered by black lace. The narrow waist band is also made of lace and rises in a gentle arc over the curves of my hips before disappearing into the cleft of my ass in a “Y” shape. Snaps on the waist band make it is easy to take off without removing the lace trimmed garter belt that holds up black sheer stockings. Now I wished I had chosen something more modest.
The sense of helpless exposure is made worse by the intense contrast of the bright ring of lights and the dark space of the warehouse. You can see me but I can’t see you. My world shrinks to be contained within the bright pool of light. Nothing exists beyond. The floor creaks and I sense you moving around me. I feel like a butterfly pinned under a microscope. My pulse is beginning to race now and my skin is tingly in anticipation of the unknown to come. A new wave of submissive desire washes over me. I chew on my lower lip.
“Are you ready for this?” The question is my last escape clause as we had agreed. I am scared but I nod my head and murmur yes.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes master?” I try.
“You haven’t earned the right to call me master. You will address me as sir until told otherwise.” You continue to move around me hidden in the shadows like a predator stalking a helpless prey.
I hear you stop and again nothing happens for a long time. I can’t see you but imagine you are staring at me from the darkness, appraising me. My mind wanders and I fantasize I am a slave girl on public display for perspective buyers. Or perhaps I am a political prisoner in a repressive regime and under trial by unseen judges for an unknown crime. My legs turn to jelly as I get lost in my fantasy coupled with the stress of their position. Your voice yanks me back into the present.
“Remind me of your details for the video I am making of this” I notice a couple of red blinking lights in the shadows and realize you are taping this from several different angles. I begin to recite the statement you had e-mailed me several weeks ago.
“My name is Gabriella Delbello. I am here willingly. I am 26 years old, 5’6” tall and weigh 130 pounds. My measurements are 36D-26-37. I currently do not have a lover. I agree to completely submit to you for whatever period you need to assess me. And I hope to be found pleasing to you, sir.” I add this last little bit on my own.
“Kneel and keep your hands behind your head!” you snap.
I sink to my knees on the hard rough wooden floor. My hands remain locked together at the back of my head as I settle down onto my heels. The position of my arms lifts and accentuates my breasts. It is as if I am offering them up to you. My arousal is building relentlessly. It’s obvious that I am at the mercy of an experienced and skilled master. I am scared and thrilled at the same time. I am breathing heavily now, my heart is pounding and I am getting wet.
I hear a coil of rope being removed from the table and turn to look. All I catch is a tight black leather glove pulling back into the dark shadows. You circle me slowly again and finally stop behind me. Leather clad hands grip my wrists and pull them firmly up so they are pointing straight up above my head. You slip a loop of the thick coarse rope over my hands and jerk firmly, welding my wrists together, palm to palm. The tails of the rope are looped in tight bands around my arms. When you are done a neat stack of coils forms a rope sheath from my wrists to halfway up my forearm. Two long tails remain and are wound vertically around the coils cinching them off and ensuring that no amount of struggling would free me. The ropes are knotted off at the top of the sheath; just below my elbows. I am surprised to feel the ends of the tails dangling against my useless upper arms and wonder with a bit of concern what you intend to do with them. The ropes were tight before the cinching, now they feel like they will slice through my skin. I realize I have just been helplessly tied for the first time in my life. I struggle against the bindings to confirm what I already know, they are not coming loose. In fact struggling is painful as the ropes chafe my soft skin. My stomach seems to drop like I am on a roller coaster as the reality of the situation sinks in. You’ve tied me and I am not getting free until you decide. This is what it feels like to be truly helpless.
I am kneeling, dressed only in sheer skimpy lingerie and spiked high heeled shoes. I feel dirty and wanton. I fight the urge to lie on my back, spread my legs and beg you to fuck me. Once again my desire shocks me as I struggle to accept that I want to lie bound on the grimy floor of a darkened warehouse and get fucked by a masked stranger. And so far there has been almost no physical contact between us. You are just playing with my mind. I am worried that I feel so overwhelmed when you have only bound my hands. What is it going to be like when you really start to work me over; could I take that? Despite it being a burning fantasy of mine I start to wonder if I’m in over my head. It doesn’t matter what I feel, I had agreed to total submission. You have tied me. I’ll not be free until you decide. My will means nothing.
You’ve moved back to the shadows. I hear the buzz of a motor and the rattle of chain. The hook hanging above me is attached to a winch. The motor stops and you step out of the shadows behind me. My arms are jerked up as you pull the loose tails up. I feel rather than see you tie them to the hook. When you are done I am left on my knees with my arms pulled straight up above my head. The symbolism of the position is obvious but effective; a nearly naked bound woman on her knees screams submission. A wave of passion rolls over me and another threshold of what I would willingly submit to is washed away.
I have no sense of time. How long have I been here? I must have been kneeling here for at least fifteen minutes. My knees hurt from being pressed onto the hard wood of the floor. My legs are starting to cramp from being folded under me. There is no sound. There hasn’t been since you stepped back into the shadows. Where are you? What are you doing?
Suddenly the winch starts again. Nothing happens for a second then the coils of rope tighten like a boa squeezing its prey. I’m pulled off my knees by my arms. I expect the winch to stop when I am standing but it doesn’t. It continues to pull relentlessly upwards. When it finally clanks to a halt only the balls of my feet and my toes are on the ground. Most of my weight is supported by the wrist bondage and as a result the rope is pulled so tight it feels like it will rip through the skin. I push up with my feet as best as I can. It doesn’t help that the heels of my feet have slipped out of my pumps but I do manage to relieve some of the pressure on my tortured wrists. After a minute or so I feel a burning in my calves. I last a little longer but then sink back down relaxing my exhausted calve muscles but renewing the strain on my arms.
My head is forced back as my arms are drawn so tightly together that I can’t push it between them. If I keep my neck up my face is pressed into my biceps. If I relax and let my head fall back my neck ligaments press onto my windpipe making breathing awkward. My entire body is stretched to the limit. My shoulders are pulled up and my breasts along with them. Each mound has pulled far enough out of the bra cup so my dark brown nipples are exposed. My hair brushes the skin on my lower back. This is what a medieval rack must have felt like. My stretched out muscles and tendons feel like they are about to tear. A dull pain emerges to wrap me entirely in its hold and with it comes a heightened awareness of my body. The aching is barely tolerable at this point and a quiet whimper escapes my lips.
“You are not marked in anyway; no tattoos, no piercings.” It is a statement not a question.
“No sir, but my ears are pierced.” I manage to pant out in reply.
Footsteps creak on the wooden floor. You are circling me again, unseen in the shadows, inspecting my nude and helpless body displayed for you. I hope you find me pleasing. I try to stand with a bit more grace but it is almost impossible to alter my position. So begins a relentless cycle of standing on my tip toes thereby sacrificing my calves and eventually my toes for a miniscule amount of relief on my wrists or hanging painfully by my arms to relieve my aching legs. Again time passes but I have no idea of how much. I’ve given up and let my head fall back. The lights are in my eyes and all I see is the rope, hook and chain that is the source of my misery. The pressure on my throat causes my breathing to come in quick gasping pants. My skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat.
I jerk in my bonds as I unexpectedly feel your leather gloved hands gently grasp my hips. The soft leather slides up my body and finger tips trace lightly up the sides of my rib cage. I squirm a bit in reaction to the gentle tickling sensation. Hardly making contact with my skin, your finger tips dance across the exposed mounds of my large breasts. You catch one of my dark brown nipples and roll it gently between your thumb and forefinger. The touch of your skilled hands makes it impossible for me to stand still. I writhe and sway in my bonds. Both nipples are trapped by your fingers and harden in response to your attention. Suddenly you seize each breast in a talon like grip and pull me forward. My feet swing off the ground and I am held in a painful arch as my breasts are pulled up and away. I am whimpering and panting quickly trying to absorb the pain like a woman in labor. You hold me like that for a second, my tits feel like they will be ripped from my body and then you let go. I swing back down and my feet miss the floor. My chest burns painfully. The sensation is overwhelming and it feels like my entire being has been reduced to my tortured breasts as I am aware of little else. You just stand there and watch as I swing by like a pendulum. Eventually I regain contact with the floor and stop the swinging.
My head is pushed up as you move to hug me from behind. My face is pressed into my upper arms, blocking off what limited vision I did have. Your strong arms wrap around me, crushing my nearly naked body against your powerful chest. I sink into the feeling of your hug, surprised at the feeling of security your embrace evokes. You rest my breasts in the palms of your hands like you are assessing two melons. Your grip tightens and you begin to massage them, gently at first, then gradually building in pressure. Before long you are dragging them in circles, rotating the tender mounds of flesh in opposite directions; pulling them away from my chest, turning them into elongated cones. I groan in protest but there is nothing I can do to stop your assault on my exposed tits. Despite the pain, I revel in the feeling of helplessness that I so desperately craved. A growing awareness dawns on me that the feelings of helplessness and submission are directly linked to the pain you are inflicting on me. I strain to thrust my breasts out, acquiescing and offering them up to your rough handling.
“Good girl.” You whisper into my ear as you feel the change in my body.
One hand slides across my flat belly will the other continues to massage my breasts. The hand in motion works its way across my pubic mound. I know the destination and try to spread my legs, offering you access to my moist and swollen lips. I can only spread my legs a few inches before I risk losing contact with floor and hanging by my wrists again. However it’s enough for you to slide you leather covered fingers over my pussy. You tease the blood engorged labia and I twist and writhe in your firm embrace, trying to increase the pressure of your fingers. The strain in my wrists and shoulders builds with my struggles but the effort is in vain as you completely control me and move at your own pace. I am moaning steadily in response to your skilled touch. I feel like my body is a delicate instrument being skillfully manipulated by a virtuoso. I groan as you plunge a single finger into me. It slides in and out a few times. It is not enough to satisfy the passion smoldering in my belly but rather it stokes up the heat. Your finger pulls out of me and your embrace falls away as you step back. My head is jerked back by the hair and once again I am staring up into the blinding lights above me. Something black moves across my vision and I feel your gloved finger press into my mouth.
“Lick it clean.”
I comply, the taste of my own pussy juices filling my mouth. I swirl my tongue around the digit and then suck gently on it, as if performing fellatio. The finger is suddenly yanked from my mouth. I hope you read my signal correctly. If I could, I would drop to my knees and take your cock in my mouth, pleasuring you until you explode, filling my mouth with your sperm. But I hang alone again, hot and bothered by your attention. The pleasure and the pain you have caused mingle together, each one made more intense by the other. I miss your touch already.
A loud cracking sound startles me and I jerk off balance, swinging by my arms for a second before I can get my toes in contact with the ground. I’d never heard that sound before but I know what it is; the cat o’nine tails striking the hardwood floor off in the shadows. It sounds like it will hurt if or rather, when the target will be my vulnerable body instead of the floor. Fear wells up inside knowing a whipping is imminent and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
I hear the first blow before I feel it. A loud crack on my back and then the pain erupts. It feels like scalding water has been thrown across my skin. A wave of intense heat spreads out from the path of the leather straps. Another loud crack, this time on my front and my breasts explode in pain. The blows follow a steady rhythm, building rings of searing flesh around my torso. I have gone from whimpering to sobbing to screaming. I try to twist away from the blows and lose my balance. I am swinging by my arms, legs flailing around trying to regain contact with the floor. You spare no part of my body. Blows rain on me from my calves to my shoulders: front, back and sides. Eventually I find myself flinching away from blows that never fall. The beating is over.
Finally I stop swinging and wind up standing stretched out tautly but at least stable. I am reduced to a quivering mass of flesh. My entire body is cocooned in pain. My skin is burning from the lashing. My muscles and tendons are on fire from being under such tension for so long. Sweat is carving little streams down my torso. My throat is raw. The pain begins to subside and I am left with an afterglow of tender and hypersensitive flesh. Now that is over, the beating doesn’t seem so severe.
What felt like crippling blows at the time turn out to be less permanent than I would have imagined during the height of the whipping. You are very skilled with the whip and know how to balance the trade off between inflicting pain and causing real damage. My skin still burns but with less intensity than before. I begin to think that I might be able to take another beating. But this first one was designed to give me an understanding of what being helpless under the lash feels like. It is merely a set up for what is yet to come.
I hear the winch start again and groan as it pulls upwards. I quickly lose what little contact I have with the floor and dangle painfully by my wrists. The chain continues to recoil into the darkness overhead until I hang several feet off the floor. My stiletto pumps fall to the ground. The ropes binding me dig more deeply into my tortured skin as all my weight is now supported by my wrists. The bones feel like they will be crushed from the pressure and my shoulders strain under the load. I whimper and moan in helpless agony. I spin slowly at the end of the rope, unable to stop the gentle turning. It affords me a quick glimpse of you stepping out the shadows with a long narrow white box that looks like those used by a florist.
I see that I am right as you toss the lid of the box aside to reveal dozens of long stemmed red roses. They look beautiful from the glimpse I catch and the dusty smell of the warehouse is replaced by their fragrance. I am surprised when you dump the gorgeous flowers on the floor forming a thick carpet beneath my feet. You disappear from view and I feel the winch rattle into motion again. This time I am relieved to feel it lower me as I anticipate reduced strain when I can touch the floor again. My sense of relief quickly evaporates as the soles of my stocking covered feet sink into the pile of rose stems. Sharp thorns poke the tender flesh. I move around as best as I can to find somewhere to stand free of the thorns but to no avail. I don’t know which is more painful; to hang suspended by my wrists or to suffer the pain inflicted by these beautiful flowers. I know I will never look at roses in the same way again.
The table catches my eye and I notice the leather draw string bag is gone. It suddenly appears in front of my face as you stand behind me and pull it down over my head, enclosing me in a veil of blackness. The warm distinctive scent of leather fills my nose. The inside of the sack is lined with some soft velvety material. A wave of panic rises in me as the drawstrings tighten around my neck. I feel you jerking the knots home and relax slightly as I realize you are not going to strangle me.
Something cold and metallic touches my shoulder. My bra strap is pulled upwards and saws back and forth before suddenly separating. My left breast tumbles free. The right one quickly follows as you cut through the other strap. The bra cups now hang down across my belly as my breasts stand out naked, free from the ruined bra. The cold metal traces up my spine and then I feel the band of the bra tighten across my front as you cut through the strap near the clasps at the back. The brand new and relatively expensive bra falls to the ground. I didn’t realize how important the little coverage it did provide was to me until I stand, unable to see, with my full breasts exposed.
My hips are pulled backwards as you tug on the lace waist band of my thong. I realize with dismay that you are ignoring the hook and clasp and instead slice though the band at the “Y” join just above the cleft of my ass. I am reminded of the crude analogy of a thong as dental floss when you pull it back through my crotch causing the material to slip between the slick skin of my moistened pussy lips. I sense you move away from me. You are done stripping the naked helpless woman hanging from your ropes.
Does it please you to see me in just my garter and black sheer stockings? Actually their presence makes me feel more naked than if they were removed along with the bra and panties. I hang there in the hot stuffy darkness of the hood. At one end my wrists burn in agony from the tight strictures and at the other the soles of my feet are tortured by the sharp rose thorns. Again I am startled by the loud crack of the cat o’nine tails against the floor. Suddenly am I not so sure I can face another whipping.
You alter your technique now that I cannot see and have experienced the pain of the lash enough to truly fear it. Instead of the steady predictable rhythm of the first beating, you space the timing and location of the blows out randomly. The first two come in rapid succession, re-igniting the fire on the tender skin of my ass. I flinch in anticipation of a third blow that doesn’t fall. I whimper in the confines of the leather hood. I am just beginning to think you are done when the weight of the lashes land on the exposed mounds of my breasts. I scream, partly in pain and partly because I am startled by the unexpected blow. That blow is followed by three or four quick ones across my calves and then they stop again. I twitch and wince in anticipation of blows that do not fall and scream in startled agony when they do come. Earlier I would have categorized the first beating as torture but now I know better. The fear of waiting in anticipation of the strike from the whip is as bad as the blow itself.
I alternate between screams as the blows fall and pleading for mercy in the space between. I promise to submit to acts I never would allow otherwise but you continue unabated, heedless of what I offer. My begging has no value as you can do with me what you will, regardless of my compliance. I twist and turn in a desperate attempt to escape the blows but this only increases the pain of my bondage. I am sure the skin around my wrists is chaffed raw by the coarse rope with which you have bound me. Each time I move my feet I seem to step on unbroken thorns. They feel like little electric shocks as I move my feet in a struggle to avoid the whip. Finally I give up and hang like a rag doll, accepting the blows with a muffled grunt when they do fall. After a particularly long interval I hear the winch start up again and my spent body sags to the ground as the chain lowers my arms.
I wind up on my knees again. My arms are still raised above by head but somewhat less severely and I am able to lift my head between my arms for the first time in a couple of hours. I rest a leather encased cheek on my upper right arm and relish the feeling of relief in my neck. I am still gasping what air I can in short sharp breaths as a result of the whipping but the relentless pressure caused by having my neck bent backwards abates. Even so breathing is a challenge as the leather hood restricts the amount of fresh air I can gulp. I’m not suffocating so air must be getting in somewhere. I just can’t see where.
My face is covered in sweat. It is hot in the hood due to the spent air I am exhaling. The sweat running down my face tickles the skin of my cheeks and I try to wipe it off on the lining of the hood. My soles are no longer tortured by the sharp thorns. Instead my knees, shins and tops of my feet feel as if they are being pressed into broken glass. I don’t care and try to absorb the pain as best I can. I am too weak to try to find any relief. Once again my entire body is scalded from the whipping. The pain is lasting longer this time and I don’t feel the glow of arousal that I did after the first session with the whip. Unlike during the interval after the first beating, I am not confident about being able to take a third assault.
But what I feel doesn’t matter; the whipping will happen if you want it, regardless of my ability to withstand it. I now seriously doubt my sanity in yearning to be a sex slave. This is what I wanted, what I crave in unfulfilled frustration but my imagination severely underestimated the painful reality of what being a slave girl to you would be like. However the erotic heat radiating out through my belly overrides the rational part of me that says this is crazy. I spread my legs wider and try to strike a more alluring pose as lust overwhelms logic. I want to feel your strong hands on my tender skin.
Instead I feel the scratch of another coil of rough hemp being wound around my left thigh and shin, tightly lashing them together. I am left bound in a kneeling position when you complete the procedure on my right leg. The toe of your boot taps the inside of my thighs and I slide them open in response. My knees are spread widely apart before you are satisfied. My breathing has relaxed but the air is hot and stuffy inside the confines of my hood. My long brown hair is now stuck to my sweat covered back. My tits heave as I breathe and I can feel a bead of sweat running across my right breast and down my flat belly. I have lost awareness of you in the blindness of my hood. I can’t be sure that you are even still in the room but I suspect you are, standing in the darkness of the shadows appraising the naked slut kneeling in your bonds. The naked slut who despite all the pain she is experiencing; still desires with every thread of her being to become your total slave. I begin to drift in the darkness of the hood and the silence in the room.
I jerk upright with a start. I must have fallen asleep and woke up when my head slipped off my arm and fell forward onto my chest. I straighten back up and once again rest against my arm. I drift off again. This happens three or four times before I stop waking up and fall into a fitful sleep.
I slowly come out of sleep, slightly disoriented. I think this must be a dream. I can’t really be kneeling nude, bound at the feet of a stranger can I? I feel you tugging on the coils of rope locking my right thigh to my calf. The burning sensation on my skin under the ropes tells me you are pulling a length of the rough hemp rope under the leg bindings. You tie this new rope leaving a long tail that you pull up to the same hook my wrists hang from and knot there. The procedure is repeated with my left leg. I’m left alone again.
The winch starts and I am pulled up off the floor. It is slightly less painful this time as my folded legs support most of my weight. The ropes binding my wrists to the hook now simply keep me from tipping forward or back. The winch stops. There is a tugging at the back of my neck and the pressure on my throat builds for a second before it dissipates altogether. I wince as the hot stuffy darkness of the hood is suddenly replaced by the blinding lights once again. When I have finally adapted to the brightness after hours in the hood, I see you standing in front of me, still completely hidden beneath your balaclava. I hang so that my pussy is level with your shoulders. You slide you hands between my closed thighs and push my legs apart. I am completely open to you and totally helpless to resist.
One hand slides up and begins to probe around my lips and teases the moist lining. You pull your hand back an inch or two, just enough to break contact with me. I let out a part moan and part growl as I tilt my pelvis towards you. I now realize I am effectively tied into a parachute harness arrangement and can swing back and forth easily and twist from side to side. Despite my frantic efforts, I can’t reach your extended fingers as each time I twist forward you just pull back. Eventually you grab my left breast in your large strong hands and twist, drawing a grasp from me and forcing me to be still. Once again your fingers just tease my lips. I can’t stand it and beg you to come inside me. I want to feel your cock filling me up, sealing your complete position of me. But you have other ideas.
One finger slides into my moist tunnel. A second follows quickly. You rock them in and out a few times and then pause when the tips are about to slide out of me. I feel a third one tickle my lips before sliding into the folds with the other two. You push all three fingers into me. When you bury them as deeply as you can, you begin to rotate your wrist back and forth causing the ridges formed by your fingers to pulse alternating jolts of pressure on the inside of my passage.
That does it for me. I begin to pull up on my wrist tie so I can ride the fingers impaling me. I see your eyes staring at me through the balaclava. I can’t make out any details and tear my gaze away. I hang my head in shame. I don’t stop trying to hump your hand though. You hook your fingers inside me and begin to swing my helpless suspended body around. I feel like a puppet and your hand is controlling my movements. The first waves of an orgasm are rolling up through my belly. I’m panting as I strain to keep rocking on your fingers as you twist my naked body from side to side with your digits still planted deep inside me. Suddenly your hand slips out of me. I growl in frustration. You bastard, I think to myself. I was so close.
Any potential residual satisfaction I can get from your invasion of me is swept away in burning frustration. I burst into a little spoilt brat not getting candy at the grocery store sort of meltdown. I twist and turn in my rope harness, essentially trying to stomp one leg on the ground in that classic gesture of feminine indignation. I clamp down tightly on my mouth to make sure nothing intelligible escapes from behind my lips. The word bastard is repeated often in the rage that is boiling inside me. Haven’t you done enough to me? Why do you deny me the relief I seek. Finally I settle down when I realize that struggling has done nothing other than cause the rope to dig more deeply into my skin. I look back at you really see you for the first time.
The balaclava is still in place but what I can see tells me you are powerfully built. Broad shoulders and a trim waist remind me of a swimmer’s body. I wonder what it would feel like to be held in your strong arms; safe and protected I’m sure. It’s hard to tell much about you. Your upper body is covered in a black Lycra long sleeve t-shirt, like the ones athletes wear under their equipment. It is tight and shows off your muscled torso and arms but reveals nothing more than form. Camouflage pants are tucked into black combat boots. Black leather gloves cover your hands so no skin is visible to me. You are standing mere feet away from me under intense lights and I could not tell anyone a distinguishing feature about you. I hang naked and totally exposed in front of you but the real you; the one behind the disguise is completely hidden from me. I shudder to think of what I have done and said over these long hours to a complete stranger.
My focus is drawn down to your waist as I notice you pulling something from your pocket. You hold open your hand to show me and I groan at the sight. I know what they are but I have never actually seen nipple clamps let alone worn them. A gloved hand reaches out and gently rolls my left nipple. I wince as the heat from the whipping is reignited. My nipple hardens despite the pain. When you judge it ready, the open jaws of a clamp are pushed down over the tender nub and released. I gasp. It feels like my nipple is on fire. I shake and twist but the clamp stays locked on. I whimper in anticipation as you massage the right nipple. Struggling against you is useless. You’ve tied me beautifully. The weight of my own suspended body and the few pieces of rope you used leaves me completely open to you; unable to resist. My right nipple explodes in pain and you step back at look at me.
I wonder what you think. My long brown hair is a tangle of sweat dampened curls. My make up must be smeared across my face from the inside of the hood. I can see red welts marking where a particularly hard blow had landed on my sweat covered body. My breasts heave as I struggle with the pain of the nipple clamps. The looping chain dangles in an arc beneath my tits. Whimpering in quiet frustration, I hang crassly exposed to your whims. Long gone is the sexy business woman. I’ve become the slutty slave girl and it is you who has reduced me to it. I don’t know what you think of me but I look at you with a mixture of awe and fear. I know with absolute certainty that if you were to untie me now I would sink to my knees at your feet, helpless to your power, to your creativity, to your touch.
You turn away from me. I am surprised to feel the pain in my nipples doesn’t seem as intense as when I first felt the bite of the clamps. You are back in front of me with the black leather riding crop. I hang here helpless in my ropes resigned to what ever fate you decide. My entire body is utterly defenseless against your ability to inflict pain or ignite erotic passion. I crave the latter but expect the former. I am not wrong.
You lash out at me with the crop. The flesh of my thigh burns in a tight line. The intensity randomly alters between light slaps and scalding blows. You work on the fleshy parts of my vulnerable body; the smooth skin of my thighs and the round globes of my ass. Sometimes you just gently trace the leather tip of the crop over my skin causing a wake of tingles to trail behind marking its passage over my curves. Other blows are aimed at the exposed soles of my feet. Eventually you hook it under the chain connecting the nipple clamps and pull it away from my breasts. I wince as the clamps begin to follow the chain dragging my nipples along with them. You pull my suspended body forward by the chain but the clamps remain locked on. Suddenly you lower the crop and I swing back away from you. I cringe as I see your arm pull the crop back in the opposite direction.
I swing into the blow that lands on my left breast. It takes a split second to realize that it wasn’t that hard. The rhythm continues alternating one vulnerable tender mound of flesh for the other. Despite the mildness of the blows, my tortured nipples explode any time they feel the stinging caress of the crop. This beating is not really to inflict more pain but rather to humiliate me with my helplessness. There is no better target than a woman’s exposed breasts or spread pussy for a master looking to deliver yet another degrading lesson in how helpless she is. It literally strikes at those very things that are so symbolic of being a woman. You attack both targets with a relentless pattern of slaps. Their cumulative effect far outweighs the impact of the individual blow.
I writhe in my bonds as I try to evade the crop but your blows land with pinpoint accuracy. I am breathing heavily and my pulse is racing again. I plead quietly, muffling myself by pressing my face into my suspended arm. You are not hitting me to inflict pain; you’re just doing it because you can. It underscores your control over me. Finally you toss the crop aside and undo your fly.
I gasp at the magnificence of the cock that emerges. Its length is more than adequate but what makes it truly special is its thickness. There is nothing better than the feeling of fullness, of truly being possessed by a cock that only one of sizeable girth can deliver. The tight skin of the purple head shins in the light. Veins stand out on the shaft like vines around a tree trunk. A large scrotum hangs from the base of the rod. I am tingling at the thought of having you inside me. Your cock wobbles as if it were a snake seeking out some helpless prey.
You move behind me. A strong leather clad hand grips the back of my neck and pushes down. This forces my ass to tilt back and up leaving my vagina vulnerable to you. The tip of your cock lightly caresses the folds of my labia. I moan in frustration as you tickle my pussy with the head of your dick. I strain to bring more pressure to the gently teasing contact but I am held rigid in your iron grip and tight ropes.
After what seems like an eternity of teasing, you push your penis into me. You stop when only the head is inside, my pussy lips wrapped around the shaft just below it. This time I growl in frustration. You yank on a clump of my hair.
“That sounded like insubordination, bitch”. You whisper tersely in my ear.
Carefully you push in and out of me so you never penetrate past your head and stop the backing out when just the tip is about to slip out of me. Once again “bastard” is oft repeated in my internal rant. Won’t you please just fuck me? What more do you need from me?
You ignore my distress and continue to torture me with your cock. You begin to push in a little deeper before pulling out. Slowly, painfully slowly, you work your way inside me until I am fully impaled on your rod. You rock back and forth a few times in a slow rhythm before sliding all the way out to the tip again. You pause there for a second, teasing me as to which way you’ll go. I groan in helpless rage when you pull out of me.
Suddenly my pussy is on fire. I scream, more due to indignation than pain, as the crop swings in an upward arc striking my wet pussy again and again. The whipping doesn’t matter. My entire universe is limited to the thought of your rock hard cock splitting me open. Denied pleasure and mild pain course through my body. I am begging, pleading again. I promise everything to you if you would just fuck me. You ignore me and the crop continues to smack into my tender flesh.
The blows end and once again the tip of your penis teases my labia. I twist and squirm in the bonds but you have rendered me completely helpless. I start to moan quietly as you slip inside me and repeat the teasing all over again. By the time I have endured several cycles of teasing with your cock and the assault with the riding crop, I am completely broken. Tears of frustration are running down my cheeks and my naked body is covered in sweat. A line of drool hangs from my chin; a side effect from screaming during the intervals with the crop. You push deeply into me and stay there, impaling my suspended body on your rod.
I clench my muscles to hold you in. Slowly you begin to piston into me; slamming into my ass with your hips as you drive deeply. I am lost in the sensation of being filled by your cock. My helpless body jerks in the ropes as you pull and push me up and down your dick. I let out a short grunt each time you slam into me. This isn’t tender love making; it’s a brutally primal fucking.
The reward for having endured the hours of torture is finally here. My skin tingles as if an electric current is running through it. My toes curl and my useless fingers flex as the first wave of the orgasm flares through my abused body. Suddenly I scream in agony. You pulled the chain of the nipple clamps just as I came. The physical abuse they took from having the clamps yanked off is nothing compared to the burning pain as blood flows back into my tortured buds. The intensity of the pain is matched by the pleasure of the orgasm. I let out a long low moan as I get lost in the bliss of cumming.
You keep slamming into me; allowing me no time to savor the moment. You haven’t cum yet and you are about to rip another orgasm from me. Finally I feel your body go rigid and you bury yourself deep inside me as you erupt. A second more powerful orgasm rocks me. It feels like every cell in my body is vibrating with sexual energy. We are frozen by the overwhelming sensations as if we are statues. Eventually you recover and slip out of me. It is the last thing I am aware of as I succumb to a blissful exhaustion.
I swim back up to awareness. I am lying on the floor. You’ve cleared away the trampled roses so I lie in relative comfort. A thin blanket has been tossed over me. I look around for you. There you are sitting in the chair, causally slumped back and watching me. I twist around and struggle into a sitting position. My hands are still tied together but they have been lowered down level with my waist. My entire body is consumed by the after effects of our session. I groan inwardly when I see you rise up out the chair and disappear. The winch kicks back in and I am drawn up once again by my wrists. This time the winch stops when I am left in a kneeling position; the ropes still binding my legs calf to thigh and my hands are pulled high enough that I barely touch the floor. You step in front of me and push your penis into my face. I open my mouth.
As you slide into me I began to plan out the blowjob I want to give you. I am ashamed to find myself thinking that if I give you really great head you will want me as your slave. Slave, duh, my plans for the blowjob mean nothing as you press your erection down my throat; it’s going to be the way you want.
My jaws are forced wide apart as I strain to take the full thickness of your rod into my mouth. I position my head as best as I can so my throat opens up and I take the full length of the shaft into my oral cavity. My scalp burns in patches on either side of my head as you wind your hands around two thick strands of my disheveled hair. You use them to pull my head down on your cock. You don’t stop until my nose is buried in what little of your pubic hair emerges from your pants. My entire mouth is filled from the lips to the back of my throat with you. My lips are stretched tightly around the circumference of your dick.
With my mouth completely sealed and my throat partly obstructed breathing has become difficult. I pant in and out of my nose quickly trying to get enough air. Your grip on my hair is preventing me from moving my head back and forth. I realize that you are not going to allow me to pump your shaft and instead start to suck on your cock with it buried deep inside my mouth. This complicates the breathing procedure and I start to break out into a light sweat as I struggle to perform.
Two things suddenly dawn on me. The first is the sooner I make you cum, the sooner I can go back to breathing normally. The second, which is a little frightening to me, is that just sucking is going to take too long. I need to think fast as to what to do since all of my usual techniques are off limits. The pain, exhaustion and emotional torment of the long night are not helping me to think clearly. Then it hits me; the only thing that is capable of movement is my tongue.
I press it up against the underside of your shaft. I can move it back and forth slightly so I begin to massage your cock. I curl the very tip up and press into that sensitive spot where the base of your penis meets the scrotum. I tease the vein from side to side across the ridge that runs up the underside of you erection. All the while I continue to suck as hard as I can; breathing has become nearly impossible. I am like a drowning woman trying to hold her breath while she swims for the surface.
Eventually I feel you tighten your grip on my hair. Your cock grows even harder. The first spurt of cum blasts on the back of my throat and launches my gag reflex. There is no time to recover as you shoot your load deep into my mouth. Drowning from sperm now seems like a very real possibility but you withdraw part way allowing more room in my mouth and some air to get in. Despite the marginal relief I choke and splutter trying to swallow your deposit.
Finally you pull out of me altogether. A thick string of drool and sperm runs out over my lips, down my chin and drips onto my heaving breasts. I hang my head to the floor, my hair finally free of your vicious grip. I am exhausted; a spent shell of a woman. Just when I thought it could not get more degrading for me; you gather up a clump of my hair and wipe your slimly wet cock clean with it. You turn your back on me without a word and walk away.
I hear a sharp click and suddenly the bright ring of lights that has blinded me for these past hours goes dark. I am surprised to see the first light of morning begin to chase the darkness from the eastern sky. It must be nearly 6 AM. I have been willingly bound and tortured by you for almost nine hours. No wonder my entire body aches and I am weak from lack of sleep.
I hardly register that you have released my hands from the hook. I am surprised when they fall numbly into my lap. The neat coils of rope still bind my arms from the wrists to well up the forearms but at least they aren’t pulled over my head any longer. My shoulders and arms tingle with pins and needles as full blood circulation returns to them. I watched with a detached gaze as you untie my legs. I don’t know what state of consciousness this is but it is truly amazing; something I have never experienced before. I am instantly addicted.
Once my legs are untied I struggle to bend my lips down to your feet. I gently plant kisses on the black leather of your boots, my hair cascading across the floor around your feet.
“Thank you sir for all you did to me. I beg to be your slave. Please keep me.”
You don’t respond but grab my hair and yank me to my feet. My cramped legs can barely support me as you grab my clothes and drag me to the door. I am shoved through the door into the open hallway, naked with my arms still bound. You throw my clothes at me and then slam the door shut. I hear the deadbolt slide home. I think about knocking and pleading to be let back in but only for about half a second before I realize the futility of that. I need to get untied and dressed in that order.
I twist my arms around to look for the knots. I find a single square knot tied where I can reach it with my teeth. A wave of elation sweeps through me, I can finally get free. It turns out to be more difficult than I thought. Despite the location of the knot I struggle to get a grip on it with my teeth. After several minutes of picking and biting I manage to get enough of one strand so that I can pull the knot untied. Just then I hear voices and heavy footsteps coming up the stairs at the far end of the hall. I freeze in panic.
Two men tromp into view at the end of the hall but continue on up the stairs without looking down toward me. I stand holding my breath for a few seconds, my pulse racing. That was close; I need to hurry. With some effort I unravel the ropes from around my arms. Deep red groves are cut into them, particularly around the wrists. But aside from some minor chaffing the skin is not broken. I’m sure bruises will develop over the morning though. My naked body is covered in red welts from the various beatings I absorbed and I have little red blemishes all over my lower legs and feet from the rose thorns. I look in dismay at my clothes.
If I was dressed like a slut coming here, I am going to be leaving like a total skank. Not that they would be of any use but ruined underwear is missing from the pile of clothes on the floor. I peel off my stockings as they are full of runs and stuff them into my purse along with the garter belt. My hands and fingers aren’t working as they should yet so I fumble getting into the skirt. Doing up the buttons on the blouse seems almost impossible but I manage to get those that remain done up. I see that at some point you must have cut off all the buttons except for the bottom three. I flash a lot of breast with no bra and unable to do up my blouse. At least I was no longer naked. I slide into my blazer and stumble off down the hall in search of a way home.
Dawn has broken when I reach the street. I am surprised to see a black limo waiting at the curb. A tall willowy blond woman dressed in black livery wear holds open the rear door.
“Good morning Ms. Delbello.” She says with a hint of an Eastern European accent. “I am to make sure you get home safely. Please get in and here take these.”
She hands me a couple of make-up removal pads as I slide into the car. Once I am inside she firmly shuts the door and climbs in the front. I hear the locks in the rear door shut, locking me in. I don’t care; at least I am not wandering the streets looking like a cheap whore trying to find a cab. I start to wipe my face clean with the pads. Before we pull away from the curb the driver’s phone rings.
“Yes I have her. She is safely here in the car. Obviously no major incidents since she left you.” She passes a handset to me. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Yes sir?” I answer tentatively, hoping you are calling to tell me I passed the audition. I see the driver’s icy blue grey eyes in the rear review mirror as she adjusts it so she can see me. I briefly wonder why. You provide the answer.
“Move into the center of the seat and pull your skirt up over your hips. Spread your legs as widely as you can and pull your tits out of the shirt. Now finger yourself until the driver drops you at home.”
“Yes sir.” I reply but you’ve already hung up. I hand the phone back to the driver. I notice her eyes begin to crease with a smile as I slide my fingers down to my abused pussy.
I guess I am not quite done the audition.
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12.08.11 | updated - 06.05.17