Journey of Discovery by Victoria Mystere - Edited

Chapter One

A tiny bead of perspiration traced a path on the man's hair and in spite of the difficulty, managed to move to his skin. Moving slowly down, it meandered aimlessly through the crevices of flesh formed by the constricting leather punishment hood and collar and further down the bound man's body.

Glistening in the light from the candles it reflected their glow and became transformed from a clear bit of nothing into a shimmering jewel of passion moving slowly down the man's back. The silence of the room was pervasive -- nothing moved and nothing made noise. In the silence she imagined she could hear the tiny bead of sweat moving. With an easy reaching motion she placed her thin leather-gloved finger onto his back and traced the line the bead had made until finally intercepting and capturing the precious moisture. The woman drew her finger from his body and examined the tiny bead of gold. She thoughtfully placed her finger into her mouth and tasted the man's passion.

She moved her hand down his back slowly causing ripples of tenseness as if he were an animal shuddering to remove a fly. Wherever her fingers touched she could see the effects -- a fine quivering accompanied by a muffled moan from under the hood. Her fingers continued down until they finally closed on the leather thong tightly trapping the man's genitals. The thong she had placed there. A leather thong constricting his scrotum and penis which she had carefully threaded between the man's legs, buttocks, and then tied to the heavy punishment belt. The thong that trapped and held in the cock and ball harness that first contained him and made his erection impossible. She loosed the cord and began to slowly tighten her grip -- then she pulled it tighter. She heard his breath catch in his throat and he tried to whimper through the gag under the hood. She smiled. Thinking little of the act, she cinched it tighter and retied it to the belt.

Moving to the man's side, she carelessly flicked the riding crop onto his body under his bound arms where the flesh was tender. Just a reminder that she was there -- and in control. With a small smile she reached to the chain attached to the clamps on his nipples and added one more heavy metal hook. The added weight caused the nipples to be distended a little further and the man moaned loudly. Reaching out she closed her fingers around the chain holding the collection of heavy hooks and shook them. They jangled noisily in the silence. The clinking was nearly drowned out by the intense noises from under the hood and behind the gag. She picked up the hooks and held them. She measured their weight and sighed as she felt him relax. With little thought to the consequences of her action, she tossed them up. For a brief instant they danced on the air and the man's body relaxed. Reaching the apex of their short trip they snapped smartly and fell back. With a jerk their travel downward was stopped and the man moaned loudly as the clamps on his breasts tightened further.

He tried to move. The chains holding the thick leather cuffs on his wrists had little play. Still, in his bondage he did manage to move them slightly. She saw this and reached to the table behind her and took a rubber bungee cord. She placed one of the hooks into a link of the chain as far up as she could reach. Even bound and hooded, the man could tell she was near. Her body heat touched his skin and his erection strained in its harness causing the cord constricting it to tighten. She took the other hook from the bungee cord in hand and stretched it tightly toward the chain holding the other wrist. With nearly every ounce of strength she had, she hooked it through. Satisfied with her effort she backed away to examine the completed bondage. With a neutral expression she moved closer to the man and pulled on the newly stretched cord -- it barely moved. Releasing it caused it to vibrate: quickly at first and then slowing down until silence reigned once more.

She whispered in at his ear, "You know you love it." And then added ominously, "Besides, even if you didn't -- there's nothing you can do about it now, is there? Now you're mine!"

Then she sat down, watching him. She picked up the paper he had given her, before she bound him. Relaxing, she opened the sealed envelope, removed the paper and read the letter - the love prose/poem - he had written:
  Here I am inside, bound, helpless, vulnerable. 
The woman who bound me can keep me for as long as it pleases her. 
She can display me, or just leave me-- all night if it suits her. 
Longer even.
She knows the severity of my restriction, because she knows the limits
that can be imposed by tightening or loosening the restraining straps. 
There is time now; there is time to dwell upon my condition, consider my limits, 
concentrate on my will and stamina to stay the course. 
I want to prove myself to myself as well as to HER.
I abandon myself to a fate totally beyond my control. 
And the deeper the restraint infuses my spirit, the
more it liberates, and, yes, gives me freedom!
The longer I am bound and gagged, the happier I am.
The longer I am in bondage, the more I trust her.
The longer she keeps me tied up, the more I love her.
And all the time there is stirring warmth, a sense of
unutterable joy in my loins. 
An initial erection may subside and re-surge, or may
not develop at all, but constant tumescence bears
witness to that joy. 
Actual orgasm, though eventually desirable, is not
important. 
The whole trip is an orgasm.
Bondage is a release.
I can relax.
I can let my mind dwell.
I can struggle.
I can beg for release knowing it won't come.
She is in control.
I trust her.
I love her.
I fear her!
Right now, as you read this, I've been immobile for a
while, and I occasionally drift away from the
consciousness of my surroundings. 
I'm not in a total sensory deprivation situation, but
my senses do turn off from time to time, and I'm left
with only the struggle of my mind to come to terms
with isolation and discomfort; to transcend, and be
released by the sheer force of my will. 
I'm proud to be here. 
I'm not an exhibitionist, but it turns me on to know
that the person displayed to you inside this
confinement--suffering, struggling, exhilarated and
satisfied--is me. 
The more I'm bound, the more effectively I am gagged,
the freer I feel. 
I'm glad to have you know this.

Bondage means different things to different people. To
some it's the means to an end; to others, the end in
itself. It's as awesomely beautiful to behold as it is
to experience. It's esoteric as well as erotic, mental
as well as physical. It's been described as a Heavenly
Hell, and can be so when seriously employed on its
own, or in conjunction with disciplinary treatment,
humiliation, Corporal Punishment. But tonight we are
considering Bondage as the core, the essence of any
S/M situation.

True Bondage is inescapable Bondage - confined,
gagged, unable to move or speak. It is when a woman
puts me into restraints from which I cannot free
myself. The woman who binds me, binds me to herself as
the instigator and perpetrator of whatever agony and
ecstasy is to follow. I start by indulging in fantasy,
then grow inward, and finally retreat from superficial
reality into true reality. If we understand each
other--if we have a rapport, she may then want to take
me deeper, and as I approach my endurance limit, she
will help me to steel myself. The ultimate, and most
rewarding aspect of rigid bondage, for me, is that
moment when I feel that I cannot endure another second
of the restraint, and I try to cry out for release.
But she will not give in when I might.

The more she keeps me bound, the more, despite my
pleas, the more I love her.
The longer I'm bound, the better it is.
The more I want to be free, the greater the ecstasy.
I would not want to fail that woman, much less myself.
She would know that I always try not to use a release
code--that despite my pleas and whimperings, hopefully
not intelligible due to my gag, that hers is the
judgment, hers the decision. Then, eventually, my
"Thank you, DEAR" for the trip from Heaven to Hell and
back would be heartfelt and sincere.
The longer she keeps me from saying it, the happier I
am. In the morning, the next day, a week later, it
doesn't matter.
She is in charge!
Thank YOU, Dear!
I love you!

She smiled.

She was incredibly happy.

It had not always been so.
 
 

30.09.02

story continues in Journey of Discovery by Victoria Mystere - Edited

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