Part 7: A Respite of Sorts or Dinner Was Much More Than I Bargained For
I never thought I would survive the unsatisfied cravings running amok in my mind and body. On one hand I hated her for torturing and teasing me and leaving me unfulfilled. On the other hand, deep inside me, I loved everything she did to me.
To some degree this was a discomforting realization. I had agreed to play the role of her slave and from everything that had transpired so far she seemed to be happy playing the role of my Mistress. Or at least that’s how I felt.
Eventually my body settled down to low vibrations and I was able to somewhat relax. All my attempts to move the plug in my rear in order to help me orgasm had failed and with my legs spread I could not do anything else that would help me. Even my nipples were beginning to betray me by losing some of the sensitivity as they softened.
Lying on the bed I tried to take stock of my situation. I was tired but not for sleep. Muscles ached from all the struggling I had done and I was becoming aware of a calmness that was unusual. I wasn’t afraid of being controlled by her and I wasn’t worried that she would harm me in such a way that would leave permanent marks. My biggest realization though was the fact that I had serious thoughts about being with her sexually. I didn’t think I was bi-sexual and I don’t think I am gay (are women also called gay as men are?). But while lying bound on the bed my (sexual) desire for her was as real as the straps binding me. Does this make sense to anyone?
Even today, while I enjoy and love my relationship with Jerry (as well as another man that I will probably tell about at some future time) I have deep inner feelings for Sheila and see her every month or so. During most of our encounters I am her sub but there are occasions where she becomes much more than a dominant partner and I am left no alternative but to call her Mistress and refer to myself as slave. This pleases me a great deal and I’m extremely happy with our arrangement. I’ve also stopped trying to figure out why I have morphed into this submissive person and that by itself makes me happier than I have been for a long time before all this started.
Well, enough of my poor attempt to philosophize, I’ll get back to my story.
It wasn’t long before Sheila came back to the bedroom, kissed me, and took the comforter off. Slowly she undid the straps pinning me to the bed and after I was sitting on its edge she removed the gag and holding my face in her hands gave me a deep and very sensuous kiss. I reached out and put my hands on her hips and this time she didn’t stop me. Instead she continued kissing me and I willingly responded.
Taking the collar and ankle and wrist cuffs off she told me to take a shower, but not to cum or I would be punished again, and to put on the clothes she was going to lay out for me from my bag. She also told me to take my time and when ready to meet her in the living room. Now this was confusing, why had she suddenly become so “friendly” instead of issuing orders as she had been doing most of the time I’d been there? I mean, with the exception of warning me not cum she was actually very nice to me.
Confusing.
The shower was wonderful. It helped me unwind but also led to my being tested as I cleaned myself and had to touch my breasts, rear and puss. There were several moments when I was ready to disobey but fought the urges and managed to do as told.
Even while patting myself dry I had a lot of difficulty keeping my hands in check, so to speak, and was feeling pretty darn proud of myself when I went back down the hall to the bedroom.
On the bed she had laid out a pretty blue lacy bra and panty set I bought just for our meeting, stockings, garter belt, my black skirt (comes to just about 2” above my knees) and a blue silk blouse also bought for our meeting. Lastly my pair of black ankle strap 3” heels was on the floor next to the bed.
Using the mirror on the wall by her dresser I did my make-up and after brushing my hair began to dress.
By the time I was dressed my nipples were hard again and I knew that I was beginning to drip a little. Funny how things like silk, satin, nylon, leather and rope easily make me, how should I say it (?), horny? I guess that’s about as good a description as any. I guess it also means these things fall into the category of fetishes?
Sheila was waiting for me in the living room. She was dressed in a dark brown pant suit, a tan blouse and low brown pumps. Smiling she told me that she liked my outfit and told me to turn for her, which, of course, I did.
Grabbing my hand we started toward the door but stopped next to a small table where she kept her keys and some other things. Most troublesome though were the collar I worn the past few hours and the anal plug with a bottle of lubrication. Daring not to turn back to face her I leant over the table when she told me to and, upon her command, lifted my skirt to my waist. Using her fingers she lowered my panties about midway down my thighs and using the lube on both the plug and my rear began to insert it.
This was an awkward position for me for two reasons. First, I was embarrassed by having to bend over with my rear exposed while she slowly put the plug in me and, second, that she was taking me out like this (not bent over of course, but with plug in me <laughing>).
When she finished she quickly wiped her fingers and went to the kitchen to wash them while telling me to pull my panties back up and fix my skirt. I reached down and brought my panties back up and immediately had that all too familiar cold sticky gooey feeling when my panties came in contact with the jell she used. I’m sure that those of you that have experienced this know the feeling all too well.
Upon her return she opened the door and had me walk in front of her. When she stepped out she turned and locked the door. Going down the three flights of stairs was a chore of concentration. I’ve never found it easy to go down a flight of stairs when wearing such high heels (going up is so much easier) and the constant movement of my friendly plug wasn’t helping the situation.
Just before opening the building’s entry door she stopped me, turned me so that she was behind me, and started to put the collar on me. I started to breathe heavily and began trembling while turning red, red, red.
When she locked it on I asked her if this was necessary and that I wasn’t sure if I was ready for something like this.
Taking hold of my shoulders she turned me to face her and said that it would make her happy if I would wear her collar outside so that everyone would know I belonged to her. However, if I was one hundred percent against doing this she would understand and would be back after dinner to collect me and let me in the apartment. In the meantime though, she would take my skirt and blouse with her and I would have to wait for her either in the lobby or in one of the hallways or stairwells because she wasn’t going back upstairs to let me back into the apartment until after dinner. Of course, she said, I could stop everything now and go home.
My choices were clear (1) go with her, (2) try to hide from anyone coming or going from the building (while mostly naked) or (3) end everything by using my safe word and go home.
She’s a wicked witch!
My mind screamed go home, my mouth said I’ll go to the restaurant.
Giggling she opened the door and out into the cool night’s air we went.
If anyone is familiar with walking with a plug(s) stuffed in you then you know that it most definitely affects how you walk. No matter how much I try to walk “normal” I can’t. Being filled that way causes me to sort of waddle while clenching my cheeks to keep the plug inside me (even though I believed the plug was too big to just slip out on its own).
Don’t know if this is a very clear description but hopefully you understand how plugs change the way I walk and feel. Needless to say (so why am I saying it? <laughing>) this was not an easy stroll for me.
At least she was holding my hand so I did feel some comfort but there was no doubt that I was under her control. I regretted agreeing to this yet at the same time loved it.
We did pass a few people on the way, there is almost always someone walking about the city regardless of the time, and while no one seemed to be openly curious about the collar in my mind they all knew that I was Mistress’s slave and this just added more fuel to my growing fears and embarrassment.
And, as if the prodding in my rear wasn’t enough I also began to visualize that everyone we passed was looking at my nipples which I imagined were trying to poke holes in my bra and blouse and, lastly, my damp and icky panties still felt plastered to my rear and was becoming yet another constant reminder of what she was doing to me.
The restaurant was not particularly large, rather cozy actually and dimly lit (thank goodness!). Keeping my hand in hers we followed the waitress to a table and as directed (by Mistress) I sat in a chair opposite hers. Trying to casually read the menu was not going well for me. The plug had been forced deeper into me when I sat down making even the smallest movement quite “a chore” for me. On top of this I knew the collar’s lock was clearly visible dangling from the back of the collar so I was even more self-conscious than before and couldn’t stop myself from turning beet red before during and after anyone passed the table. I was especially mortified each time the waitress or busboy came to serve us for without a doubt they noticed the lock and gave us (I thought) little knowing smiles.
With my imagination running amok I also believed that they (waitress and busboy) were talking about us (me in particular) once they were out of sight of our table. I’m not sure if this ever happened but from other experiences with Sheila since that first weekend together I’m pretty certain it had. I’m also just as certain that the word about my collar was passed around to other restaurant staff as well. Why else would I be the recipient of furtive stares when any of them came past our table? I’m not a gorgeous model, I’m just a plain ordinary looking older (oops! mature) woman who happens to love being bound, tortured and humiliated. So isn’t wearing a collar locked on your neck normal?
Despite all my anxiety dinner went surprisingly well. I had a salad and a reuben sandwich (which I couldn’t finish and had half wrapped to go) and Sheila (for the dinner part of our adventure we were on a first name basis, that is, I didn’t have to call her Mistress) had a turkey club.
While neither of us wanted dessert but I did have tea and she had coffee. As soon as these were brought to the table she told me that my rest and relaxation time was over and to begin calling her Mistress again. Immediately I lapsed back into my slave’s role and said Yes, Mistress.
Mistress then told me that I probably noticed it had become a bit chilly on our way to the restaurant and that, in all likelihood, it was even chillier now and since we hadn’t brought along a sweater or coat she didn’t want me to be too cold so she brought something along to help warm me up.
Brilliantly I said Yes, Mistress and waited for the other shoe to drop.
Taking a small paper bag from her purse she handed it to me and told me to go to the ladies room and put on what I would find in the bag and that when I got back to the table I was to give her my bra. This way she would know that I was wearing her gift.
I took the bag and while walking to the ladies room began to move my fingers over it while at the same time attempting to avoid any eye contact with the other patrons and staff. From the small clinking sounds coming from the bag along with my fingers trying to trace what the object was I had a pretty good idea that I would find a pair of nipple clamps waiting to “warm me up”.
Finding an open stall I went in and after lifting my skirt to sit I opened my blouse and removed my bra. Looking at the little monsters I knew they were going to hurt.
The clamps she gave me were what I have since learned are called clover clamps and, as I’m sure most of you know, they are devious devils that get tighter when the chain is pulled and although it is possible to pull hard enough to pull the clamps off I don’t recommend doing that too often, especially if they are applied directly on the nipple and not a little behind it. If they are tight when put on (which these were) it makes it that much more worrisome thinking about the chain used as a leash or having them yanked off.
For several minutes I sat and waited for the pain to subside enough to go back to the table. After rolling my bra up I put it in the bag that the clamps came in. However when I started to button my blouse the clamps moved and pressed against my breasts and the stinging and throbbing this caused intensified to the degree of pain and sensitivity rushing through my nipples. I waited, again, for the pain to decrease enough for me stand up and leave the ladies room.
Before leaving the bathroom I looked down at my breasts and was horrified by what I saw and which I confirmed by going to the mirror. While my blouse wasn’t “see through” it was rather thin and the outline of the clamps, although hanging downward from my nipples, was clearly visible!
With nothing else to do (except use my safe word) I somehow mustered up enough courage to leave the bathroom and walked as briskly as I could to the table while trying to avoid contact with anyone in the restaurant.
As a general note, I should also add that being “mature” my breasts are not “perky” as when I was a teenager or even in my twenties and thirties, age and gravity does take its toll and for me, thankfully, the “sagging” of my breasts helped by not having the clamps press even harder against my blouse. That is not to say that I wasn’t in full humiliation mode. I was!
When I got back to the table I started to sit but Mistress told me to stand while we waited for the waitress to come back with her credit card receipt.
Such a kind gesture. Letting me stand in the aisle blushing brightly enough to light half of Manhattan while my nipples and puss screamed for attention.
Finally the waitress came back, thanked Mistress, and gave me the most innocent looking leer I’ve had in years. Which just bolstered the heck out of my confidence level as I tried to make myself invisible while following Mistress out the restaurant.
And, to compound matters she was right, it was chillier and despite the hold the clamps had on my nipples they reacted to the cold and as they continued to rub against my blouse I was quickly becoming a (sexual) wreck.
Between the plug and the clamps (and the collar) I was ashamed, humiliated, embarrassed and any other appropriate description that could be given to how exposed I felt, yet, and I know I keep coming back to this, I hated and loved every second that the plug and clamps worked their magic. I knew my puss was dripping!
Before entering her apartment Mistress asked if I wanted to continue. Pausing for several seconds I told her I did and hoped that I hadn’t disappointed her so far. Smiling, she leaned forward and kissed me on my lips and told me “not at all” and after opening the door told me to stand with my hands behind my back. Stepping into the apartment for a few seconds she came back and walked behind me and locked my wrists together with the leather cuffs. She then told me to go into the living room, kneel, and wait for her.
It’s not easy for me to kneel with my hands held behind me and while I was assuming the position she went down the hallway. I could hear a door open and close and when she came back she again stood behind me and after telling me to lift my head she placed a rather large ball gag in front of my eyes and told me to “open wide”.
28.06.12