«Mistress, my name is G. I saw your name on Max Fisch, and I am interested in sessionning with you. If that should meet with your approval, I would of course provide references. Respectfully yours, G.»
I am not a submissive or a slave. But I am excited by being tied up, and the more and the longer, the better. The problem is however that most people who apply to Dommes for bondage are subs and masochists. Only if the Domme is both on top of her craft and a true bondage aficionada, do we connect. Of course, it is fairly easy to weed out Dommes who, while possibly great, are not in tune with my quest: bondage requires equipment. So, unless she advertises that she uses cages, straightjackets and/or sleepsacks, that she does sensory deprivation, and that her equipment comes from quality manufacturers, such as Fetters, Mister S, Max Cita, and very few others, she is probably not an ideal partner for me. Metal from Metal Bondage or RigidCuffs is also a good sign.
So last week, I got an answer from Mistress *. Yes, she could be interested. What did I mean by «more bondage and longer sessions»? Did I have experience, what were my hard limits? The usual questions from a serious professional.
I answered that, for me, the feeling of helplessness was my biggest turn-on, and I lusted and hankered for situations where I would have no control whatsover. I added that bondage only felt real if it was truly escape-proof, meaning that I would indeed try to escape. And that, for long periods, non-painful bondage was preferable. Obviously, a simple pair of handcuffs tieing one's hands behind one's back would be inescapable, but that was not an option for 48 hours, which was the duration I contemplated. Now you can say that such a long session with a Domme I had not sessionned with yet was too long, and foolhardy, but that is what made it exciting. Our e-mail exchange was easy: Mistress * and I spoke the same language. She was not only a Lady who knew what she was talking about, but she had a devious and creative streak that really both excited me and set my nerves on edge.
So, once we had agreed dates and tribute, I was on my way. I arrived on time, and, as instructed, parked my car where it could remain for 48 hours. I then rang the door of a townhouse, and it opened, but I could not see inside, which was dark. This is not unusual, Dommes not being really eager for the neighborhood to get a bird's eye view of them in full Scene dress.
As I walked into the dark corridor that was the entrance, I felt a presence behind me, and, before I could turn my head, I felt hands grab my arms and bring them behind me where they were handcuffed, while another pair of hands put a hood down over my head none too gently, laced it tightly closed after having pushed a gag in my mouth. While the laces on the hood were being tightened, further cuffs were being applied to my ankles, severely restricting the steps I could take. Not 30 seconds had elapsed, and I was reduced to powerlessness, not knowing who, what or how...
Then I felt hands open my jacket and my shirt and slip them off onto my arms until only the cuffs on my wrists prevented them from coming off altogether.
I felt the hands that had bound me hustle me forward without giving me any chance to gather my bearings or my wits about me. They pushed me forward, and I hobbled forward almost running, as fast as my legcuffs would let me, and trying at the same time not to fall over. This was very different from the gradual session buildup that I was used to, and quite scary.
But, as I hustled forward, I felt I was going to run into something and instinctively stopped. But the hands continued to push me forward until until I bumped squarely into what felt like a wall, only padded. It was not a wall, however, because, despite the hood, I could feel some kind of recess, or cutout, into which my head fit snugly.
As soon as I was pushed into this padded plank, and before I could offer any resistance, I felt straps applied to secure me to it. One went across my back at chest level, and then another, until 4 of them glued my torso to the plank.
Then more straps tightened around the back of my neck and head. I was beginning to wonder why my arms, legs and feet weren't subjected to the same treatment when I felt something inserted between my ankles. It felt like a spreader bar, only it was pushing my ankles out against the restraining legcuff chain, until I couldn't close my legs at all any more. Then the spreader was tied down to the plank, and so was I. By then, still dazed by the whirlwind speed at which everyhting seemed to be taking place, I had no idea what was going to happen. I hadn't even seen a face or heard a voice, and this felt much more «real» than any Domme session I'd ever participated in. «Real», as in «rough», «unpredicatable», «scary»...
But it seemed that, even when I was already overwhelmed by sensations, things could still get more intense. I felt hands around my waist, openings my pants, taking my pants and shorts down to my bound ankles. I tried to resist this unexpected intrusion, but couldn't move an inch, strapped as I was with my legs open on this plank.
The hands that had brought my pants down then put another speader bar to my knees, pushing them out, which was then also strapped down. The hands then released my ankles, and I tried to move my legs, but, with my knees firmly fixed, it was ridiculously ineffective. I felt the hands put something around my middle. It felt like... thick, padded and velvety shorts. Nappies, they were putting me in nappies! Hey, we never discussed anything like that!! Did this mean that she/they intended to leave me like that for 48h???. My pants and shorts were then removed, and I felt some kind of canvas going over them. The release of my knees let the canvas be slipped up all the way to my midsection. It felt like a canvas legsack, which was gradually but firmly tightened around my legs, thighs, and over my nappies.
Then I felt my hands and arms lifted from my torso, and straps tightly connected my elbows. Some kind of canvas mitts were put on my hands,that forced me to ball my fists. The same happened to my jacket and shirt as to my pants and shorts: they were slipped off my arms. Sure, my lower arms were free, but with my elbows tied tightly together, and my hands inside mitt restraints, much good it did me! Once that was done, I felt a canvas sleeve on one arm, and, to make it short, two minutes later, I was securely strapped in a canvas straightjacket, which had been connected to the legsack. Straightjacketed, legsacked, hooded, I was totally powerless, but, somehow feeling less nervous. This was beginning to feel more like the sessions I was familiar with, and my anxiety, borne out of the shocking brutality of the start, receded.
But it soon became clear that Mistress * wasn't done with me yet. Some kind of garment was placed on the front of my shoulders, and then gradually closed in my back, on top of my straightjacket. Oh, God, it was a transport jacket. Now it hardly increases the inescapability of the bondage, because, unless you can dislocate both your shoulders at will and remain functional, the way Houdini did, nobody gets out of a properly designed, properly applied straightjacket. But the second jacket on top prevents any arm mobility, which rapidly becomes painful. It also restricts breathing, another difficult factor for long term bondage. It contributes to the heat buildup of the body inside two layers of very thick and stiff canvas. But this was no standard transport jacket, which normally extends only to the torso. This one, I could feel, was all the way down to the feet. And the hands strapped it tight. It felt like I had been wrapped into really stiff canvas. I tried bending my knees, and it proved very difficult to achieve any movement at all. I was now truly mummified in canvas. What did she intend to do to me or with me?
I felt myself pushed against the padded plank again, and strapped tightly to it. Then the plank shifted, and moved. It was a handtruck, or similar device, and it rolled along, through a few turns. Then I felt some kind of threshold, that gave trouble to my handlers. Once we were over it, I was unstrapped, and laid down on the floor, which felt like it, too, was padded.
Then for the first time since all of this started, a voice through the material of the hood covering my ears. I recognized this voice, I had spoken to her on the phone, it was Mistress*. «So, you crave helplessness? You thrive on it? Do you feel helpless enough? Because, if you don't, I can always make everything tighter, add on more layers... Well, anyway, you are now in my padded tightroom. You might wonder what the point of a tightroom is, since there is no way you can move, so you couldn't hurt yourself even if the room were not padded. You see, this tightroom was actually constructed specially for me, and it is a wooden box-type construction. It needn't be very large, so it isn't. That is why, when I heard what you were after, I had this idea. I rented a set of hydraulic rams that are used for flight simulators, which happen to be roughly the same size as this tightroom, and I got this tightroom solidly bolted onto it, where the simulator would normally be. Now these rams have the ability to raise, lower, tilt the room in multiple ways, the way a plane might be when it is in the middle of a storm. They can actually emulate a storm all the way to 1G acceleration forces. That is when flight crews need to be harsessed to their seats, else they fly all over the place in the plane cabin, which can be dangerous. You may ask, what that has to do with you. Imagine yourself, a fairly stiff canvas mummy, on the floor of that simulator while it is being shaken and tilted by the rams. How are you going to avoid rolling, slipping, sliding all over the place? You will bump into the walls, which is why it is fortunate for you that they are padded.
It is my experience that bottoms feel at their most helpless when they can't resist movement applied to them. When they are standing up and they are pushed for a fall. When they are on a floor, and made to roll over. When their instinct dictates that they extend their arms, bend their legs or whatever to maintain a vital position or balance. And then nothing, because they are tightly immobilized, so they have to suffer the fall or the roll, which their instinct teaches them is dangerous. And, just in case you think it is not going to be that bad, let me tell you, I tried it with one of my house slaves. She wasn't tied as tightly as you, nor was she hoodded. But, after 30 minutes, she had completely freaked out. To the extent that, once we got her out of the padded room, we didn't dare unstrap her from her straightjacket, for fear that she was genuinely crazy and would hurt herself or someone else. It took her 4 hours to «cool down». So considering that I have programmed for you a long, a very long storm, and a much rougher one than the one she was subjected to, you have something to look forward to. She spoke with terror of trying not to slide all the way down into the opposite wall, then, as the floor rose under her, she wouldn't slide but actually crash down straight into the other side, totally powerless to impede her fall head first.
Now, you remember, when I asked you what made you feel helpless, you answered that it was when you were pushed beyond where you would willingly go, meaning, when you got pushed too far. Well, my guess is, many hours in a flight simulator, shaking, bouncing, sliding, bumping, does meet the definition of being pushed too far, don't you think? Oh, and I guess that the hood and gag add to that feeling, because, unlike her, you won't see yourself bumping into the wall, you won't see anything, you will just desperately try to avoid it and cringe.
Incidentally, I also remember your telling me how useless you think Dommes are who take care of asking you in mid-session how you are coping, how that «ruins your space» because you feel that it gives you back the very control which you crave to lose. So I won't be one of those useless Dommes, and interrupt your scene. Besides, you also negotiated down my tribute. You should know that Dommes of standing hardly ever accept that, and certainly not for a first session. The reason why I accepted is that I thought that it would be unfair to charge you full price for a 48-hour meeting when, essentially, after some preparation and the intial tie-up, you would be left entirely alone to roll around in your playpen. OK, enough talking, I don't want to take time away from your busy schedule. Oooops, I sense a storm coming, I have to leave you and take cover. Have fun!»
Then, nothing. I supposed that Mistress * had left and set whatever in motion. I was terrified. My only hope was that she had told me this in order precisely to fill me with fear and dread, and that reality would be less daunting. I hoped that until I felt the floor rising, slowly at first, then with a huge jerk, tilting at an impossible angle. I tried to curl up on it to prevent my sliding down, but the angle became such, almost vertical, that I simply went into a terrifying, sickening free fall, straight into the opposite wall. I remember screaming into the gag like never before in my life. But I didn't just hit the wall. It was moving as I hit, so I bounced off it like a ping-pong ball, totally unable to help myself, totally unable to prepare for the next shock. No wonder the slave who tried this was out of her wits in 30 minutes. I would never withstand 48 hours of this and get out alive and sane. I was being pushed too far, much much too far. This wasn't a session, this was a horrible nightmare. I screamed and screamed, tried to battle my canvas prison, while the floor of the cell rose again, this time slowly, like the climb up a roller-coaster...
10.10.10