I twist, and feel the rope bite into my elbows. I count the heartbeats
throbbing away, fading slowly, softly. If it weren't for the sound of
blood's rush in my ears, I would not know if it existed.
My eyes are taped shut, but so long ago that I have come to accept that
my eyes no longer open. I faintly remember my discomfort, my mouth
straining at an object that filled my mouth from within yet still
touched my lips. Once this caused me to salivate uncontrollably, much
to my owner's dismay. Hanging me by the spreader bar caused the
spittle to back into my mucous membranes, stinging, burning. But my
mouth is now dry, and I have no sensation of fighting an object that
gave yet does not tear.
Occasionally, I would feel the slightest of breezes on my skin, the
most sensitive part, the ones constricted by clothing by day. I know
not what is their cause, nor do I feel them on my face. I hear
nothing, and have heard nothing for an eternity and then some. What
once was warmth, and the soft tendrils of lambs wool that encased my
head have become soaked with my sweat, the salty juices of excitement
and anticipation. After time, a concept that now exists only in my
mind, the water and the wool have warmed and now are my skin.
I try to nudge my head and feel the gentle but firm tug on my scalp.
My hair, my long luscious pride has betrayed me and has joined forces
with what wraps me, holds me, displays me. I hear the blood's rush in
my ear and this keeps me company. I vow not to count heartbeats, not
to guess or anticipate the time. The temptation is strong. How long
has it been? How much longer until dawn? One... two... three..
Sixth--sensation! The lightest of touches, but something touched me. I
arch my back in a vain attempt to reach someone, something. I feel
nothing nothing more. A sigh escapes my nostril, audible in my inner
ear. That's it! I can still hear myself, even if I can't speak. I
wait for another eternity, then count twenty heartbeats, and hum a
moan.
My left ear buzzes with the sound of a thousand scratches. A jet of
cool air rushes to cool my sweat-coated skin. Then a warm, moist
feeling traces some shape. Wet sounds, followed by a sugar-sweet,
playful-cat-sneer voice, "Our little pet is not quiet, is umm? Our
little pet wanna moan, is um?" The tongue flicks in to touch the hairs,
not even the skin. It flicks again, this time at the lobe. Wet,
moist, lovely lips caress the node, tugging gently. The tongue flicks
again. I moan, arch my back and curse my hair.
Suddenly, the ear is covered again. My head twists, jerks in vain to
find its lifeline again. I long for even the single touch, for
someone. My desires are answered, in a searing flash on my left
nipple. It throbs in quiet agony as I relish each beat of pleasure,
each pulse of fire. My breathing slows, rhythmic, deep. My nipple is
lightly tugged, slowly twisted, bent double. A squeal, soft and
breathy, follows each of these movements, all the while the chest
a-heaving.
Suddenly, the pressure is snapped away. In response, a loud cry and a
sharp convulsion. That nipple is still tingling when the clamp is
applied to its twin. Slowly, like an evil vise. Knowing better than
to let it rest on only the nub, I try to force it into me. My owner
knows these tricks. The other one received mercy; a generous pinch of
flesh laid within its jaws. This one burned white hot as the jaws came
to rest on the erect, throbbing brown nipple.
Tears welled within my eyes, denied by the tape. I felt the tape start
to lose its hold, the tearing sensation as it parted ways with my
eyelids. Then it stopped. I still could not open my eyes, and the hood
would admit no light even if I could. In agony, in frustration, in
pain, I thrashed as far as the bonds would let me.
A tearing sound at my right ear.
"I'll be hanging a little weight on that," a cold voice emphasized by a
cold, dispassionate tweak on the clamp. I gasp, sharply. "I wouldn't
jump around so much if I were you."
A shock ran, electrifying my spine, as a *heavy* pull followed. I felt
a cold piece of metal swing against my breast, above (no, that's below,
I'm upside- down) my nub, sparking and spitting with every heartbeat.
I moan, a wail sailing in my ear. The tears flow freely, and the tape
starts to give again. And it holds fast after giving precious ground.
The hell throbs down to a bearable onrush. My mind swims. Feeble, I
reach with my hands, knowing that they will never relieve the pain.
Bound as they are at elbow and wrist, I surprise myself by swinging the
coarsely past my buttocks. Firm hands, cool with sweat, grab the
flailing limbs. By my uncovered ear, I hear, "That is a no-no."
Gasp. I clench in response, but too late. The head of the phallus is
already past the sphincter. The lubricant steal away what little grip
I had, and whatever it is is now inside my ass. It is cunningly
designed, with a groove near the base (pressing against my previously
warmed cheeks) preventing my natural reflex from expelling it. I bear
down, to no avail.
There is the faint tickle of rope brushing the cheeks, then my hands
are hauled back and down, tied to the attaching rope. I tug and feel a
push within myself, pivoting at the hole. I experiment, forgetting
completely the deep pulses from the front.
The first nipple, well into its recovery, is beset by the jaws again.
This causes me to spasm, jarring the other weight into a rocking
motion. My right nip is going to be pulled off! I curse the foam
between my jaws and clamp down. The pain is still there. The pain is
still there.
My owner jingles the left clamp, igniting yet another wave of
pain/pleasure. I feel it move slightly, pointedly. Not for my
sensation, my owner is doing something to it. The hand against my
chest falls away gradually, and the pull of gravity on metal I have
come to know so well crescendos on my left. Beyond senses, I whine...
The pain does pass in time. I care not for time, just for the pain to
pass.
As it passes, the end of the whine escapes through my nose, and my
owner whispers yet again sweetness and smiles in my ear, "The motor
will turn on when you tug on the string, but only for one second.
Then," I hear the grin widening, "it will shut off for four. Have
fun. Oh, and don't move around so much." The cover scrunches in my
ear again, also cutting off a sliver of light I was able to pry from
the tape.
I feel a gentle pressure and a soft snap as a switch is thrown. I give
a cautionary tug. I tingle. Not just my ass, but I tingle, as if
shocked. The lurch rocks the weights, and my chest is blazing with
erotic fire. The buzzing stops. Tug. Pull. Yank! Nothing. Buzz.
The weights are twin pendulums, hauling this way and that. I arch my
back, trying to reach the switch, or even just the base, so I can
control my own pleasure. Not possible. My owner is cunning. My owner
is dastardly. My owner is evil. All I can do is tug, count to four,
and tug again. I cheat on the count and pull. Nothing. I pull again,
and again.
After two eternities of this, stewing in my juices, clenching and
straining, I resolve to come, if nothing else, by pulling on the cord
and rubbing the vibrator within me. I pull in a steady concerted
rhythm, ignoring the bump-bump of the weights hanging off the clamps.
My legs fight the restraints fight the unyielding iron bar in between
them. I feel the urges start, I see the spark that lights the
bonfire.
And I feel the left clamp start to slip. I tug harder, knowing the
cutting sensation as the clamp slowly slides off the nipple, the island
of flesh in its grasp shrinking, the screams of pain as it does so. I
tug faster, knowing the weight's crash on the floor will alert my
owner, who will see me cheating and punish me. I tug frenzied, as the
nipple singes, then smokes and finally is lit afire by the little, evil
clamp rubbing and squeezing the life out of the tiny patch of skin it
clings to.
I tug until I almost feel the plug coming out. In my throes of orgasm,
as I hang impaled by pleasure, the clamp still tweezers on the very
tip, the most sensitive point. The flash-flood of pleasure recedes,
and as I come down from heaven, the clip slides until its rubber-coated
jaws cling to one single hair. This sends me almost up again.
Instead, I bow outwards, waiting. The sudden motion dislodges the
clip. I do not hear anything, except the booming rush of my blood as I
come again.
I awake looking into my owner's rich, loving eyes. I passed out mere
seconds after my explosion, spent and hanging lax. I was gently laid
down, all the ropes and restraints removed, the mask, the gag and the
tape lying in a ball by my bed, and my partner, no longer my owner,
gingerly massaging color and warmth into my arms.
There was light under the playroom door.
"Is it dawn yet?"
"It's dawn."
--
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