Raven's Wild Weekend (complete) (M/F, NC-17)
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RopingRingers
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 488
- Joined: 4 years ago
You know, I've never really thought about it before, but it seems like sheilas can enjoy sex WAAAAAY more than us lmao. Twenty orgasms!? There's no bloke on earth that can go more than 3 in a row lol. Plus Ravens description of the sensation and stimulation she is enduring and enjoying, I couldn't imagine feeling that. Even in the same circumstances. It would be intense, yes, but not the world-engulfing euphoria women describe.
Part 18
Him
“You did well, Sweet Girl. You are one tough little rope bunny! You’ve earned a nice, long rest,” I say softly as I withdraw the Hitachi.
You gurgle some response, which reminds me to release the gag’s pawl mechanism and withdraw the gleaming implement from your mouth.
After lowering you to the floor, I cut the ropes binding your hair and limbs and help you to your feet. Your wobbly legs make it nearly impossible to safely snip away the coconut crotch-rope, but with some effort I’m able to cut the knots and ease the prickly strands from your red and swollen cleft.
“Those rope marks are impressive, Sweet Girl,” I say, pointing down to the broad pink Y that decorates your lower abdomen. “You’d best attend to them. There are salves and lotions in the bathroom. Go shower, bathe, do whatever you like. Eat and drink what you want. In three hours, your bondage adventure resumes.”
Her
I lie back and lay my head on the floor, too exhausted to move. I'm all too aware of the rope marks you speak of -- now that my orgasm has subsided, I can feel tingles all across my skin where the ropes bit into me, and most painful of all were the marks left by the coconut rope. Before today I'd never even heard of the stuff; now I'm not sure I want to feel it ever again. Certainly it’s a tool for sadists.
After some time has passed, I lift myself trembling off the floor and make for the comfort of a hot bath. The heat and fragrant bubbles restore some energy in me and I'm able to take proper care of the marks our session left behind. By the time I emerge from the bathroom an hour later I feel as good as new, save for the numerous red crisscross patterns left on my skin. I also decide to don the skimpier set of lingerie from last night, the blue floral design lending a fresh aura of sexiness to my curves. I don't want you to become accustomed to seeing me in all my carnal beauty, after all, lest you lose appreciation for the display.
I head to the kitchen and rummage around for something sweet. Retrieving a loaf of brioche, I join you at the table and shoot you a flushed smile. What does one say after such an experience?
"Thank you Sir," I decide is a good place to start. "I never thought I'd get to do anything like that."
Him
"That might just be the toughest tie you'll experience this weekend," I reply. "Remember, you asked for it."
You start to reply, but think better of it.
"Didn't you like my embellishments? No, wait. Don't answer that," I chuckle. "This whole weekend is about adventure. I think you've been quite adventurous so far, and we still have a day and a half to go. When do you think you might be up to doing a little more rope? I promise the next one will be somewhat more relaxing."
Her
"I would say straight away," I laugh. "But my body might disagree. Perhaps later this afternoon? I can't decide which sort of restraints I like better, anyway, between rope or leather or steel or some other device you've yet to introduce me to." I grin, hoping you'll take that as an invitation. "It's certainly been an adventure so far, and I have absolute faith that it will continue to be... A relaxing tie does sound pleasant, though."
I finish eating the brioche and stretch my arms, yawning. Between all the challenging bondage positions it's easy to forget how little sleep I got last night. But something tells me there'll be little chance of falling asleep in whatever predicament you're planning next.
Him
"This afternoon would be fine," I reply. "Why don't you go to the bedroom and take a nap? I promise I won't spreadeagle you this time."
The relief on your face is almost comical as we stroll toward the bedroom. I walk to the bed and throw back the comforter.
"Before you lie down, you might want to try these on," I say, holding out a pair of heavy steel manacles. You bow your head and proffer your wrists, and I lock the cuffs on.
I stand by as you lie down and start to pull the comforter over your scantily clad body.
"Wait a second. There's more."
In mere moments, another set of shackles adorns your ankles.
"The chains are heavy, but they're long enough that you should be able to relax and get some quality sleep. I'll wake you up in a couple of hours."
Her
I close my eyes and press my head back into the pillows, savoring the soft comforts and their soothing feeling against my marked skin. The bedspread remains only slightly musty from the night before.
For the first time this weekend I'm able to slip my fingers between my legs at my own discretion... and for the first time this weekend I have zero desire to. Funny how that works out.
Instead I rest my wrists on either side of me, the heavy chains clinking with every movement. Nevertheless, with the blankets pulled over top of them the noise is reduced and I find myself drifting off into a blissful slumber.
No dreams this time -- perhaps I'm simply too exhausted, or perhaps the morning's bondage session put my imagination to shame, amply satisfying the desires of my subconscious.
Whatever the case, I slept like a baby.
To be continued...
Him
“You did well, Sweet Girl. You are one tough little rope bunny! You’ve earned a nice, long rest,” I say softly as I withdraw the Hitachi.
You gurgle some response, which reminds me to release the gag’s pawl mechanism and withdraw the gleaming implement from your mouth.
After lowering you to the floor, I cut the ropes binding your hair and limbs and help you to your feet. Your wobbly legs make it nearly impossible to safely snip away the coconut crotch-rope, but with some effort I’m able to cut the knots and ease the prickly strands from your red and swollen cleft.
“Those rope marks are impressive, Sweet Girl,” I say, pointing down to the broad pink Y that decorates your lower abdomen. “You’d best attend to them. There are salves and lotions in the bathroom. Go shower, bathe, do whatever you like. Eat and drink what you want. In three hours, your bondage adventure resumes.”
Her
I lie back and lay my head on the floor, too exhausted to move. I'm all too aware of the rope marks you speak of -- now that my orgasm has subsided, I can feel tingles all across my skin where the ropes bit into me, and most painful of all were the marks left by the coconut rope. Before today I'd never even heard of the stuff; now I'm not sure I want to feel it ever again. Certainly it’s a tool for sadists.
After some time has passed, I lift myself trembling off the floor and make for the comfort of a hot bath. The heat and fragrant bubbles restore some energy in me and I'm able to take proper care of the marks our session left behind. By the time I emerge from the bathroom an hour later I feel as good as new, save for the numerous red crisscross patterns left on my skin. I also decide to don the skimpier set of lingerie from last night, the blue floral design lending a fresh aura of sexiness to my curves. I don't want you to become accustomed to seeing me in all my carnal beauty, after all, lest you lose appreciation for the display.
I head to the kitchen and rummage around for something sweet. Retrieving a loaf of brioche, I join you at the table and shoot you a flushed smile. What does one say after such an experience?
"Thank you Sir," I decide is a good place to start. "I never thought I'd get to do anything like that."
Him
"That might just be the toughest tie you'll experience this weekend," I reply. "Remember, you asked for it."
You start to reply, but think better of it.
"Didn't you like my embellishments? No, wait. Don't answer that," I chuckle. "This whole weekend is about adventure. I think you've been quite adventurous so far, and we still have a day and a half to go. When do you think you might be up to doing a little more rope? I promise the next one will be somewhat more relaxing."
Her
"I would say straight away," I laugh. "But my body might disagree. Perhaps later this afternoon? I can't decide which sort of restraints I like better, anyway, between rope or leather or steel or some other device you've yet to introduce me to." I grin, hoping you'll take that as an invitation. "It's certainly been an adventure so far, and I have absolute faith that it will continue to be... A relaxing tie does sound pleasant, though."
I finish eating the brioche and stretch my arms, yawning. Between all the challenging bondage positions it's easy to forget how little sleep I got last night. But something tells me there'll be little chance of falling asleep in whatever predicament you're planning next.
Him
"This afternoon would be fine," I reply. "Why don't you go to the bedroom and take a nap? I promise I won't spreadeagle you this time."
The relief on your face is almost comical as we stroll toward the bedroom. I walk to the bed and throw back the comforter.
"Before you lie down, you might want to try these on," I say, holding out a pair of heavy steel manacles. You bow your head and proffer your wrists, and I lock the cuffs on.
I stand by as you lie down and start to pull the comforter over your scantily clad body.
"Wait a second. There's more."
In mere moments, another set of shackles adorns your ankles.
"The chains are heavy, but they're long enough that you should be able to relax and get some quality sleep. I'll wake you up in a couple of hours."
Her
I close my eyes and press my head back into the pillows, savoring the soft comforts and their soothing feeling against my marked skin. The bedspread remains only slightly musty from the night before.
For the first time this weekend I'm able to slip my fingers between my legs at my own discretion... and for the first time this weekend I have zero desire to. Funny how that works out.
Instead I rest my wrists on either side of me, the heavy chains clinking with every movement. Nevertheless, with the blankets pulled over top of them the noise is reduced and I find myself drifting off into a blissful slumber.
No dreams this time -- perhaps I'm simply too exhausted, or perhaps the morning's bondage session put my imagination to shame, amply satisfying the desires of my subconscious.
Whatever the case, I slept like a baby.
To be continued...
Links to all of my stories can be found here in the Story Catalog: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=46&t=6023
Part 19
Him
“Wakey, wakey,” I chirp, clinking a shackle chain that protrudes from the covers. “C’mon, sleeping beauty. Time to hit the loo. You won’t want anything on your bladder for your next -- um -- ‘arrangement.’”
I walk you to the door of the restroom, savoring the metallic rattle of your ankle-chains as you shuffle beside me. “Go ahead and do your business.”
You emerge a couple of minutes later and we stroll toward the den to the rhythm of your fetters’ music. Clank. Scrape. Clank. Scrape. Clank...
I guide you toward the sofa, where I bid you sit while I unlock the heavy gyves.
“Let’s swap that steel for some leather. Lots and lots of leather,” I say gently, enjoying the twinkle my words bring to your eyes. "Stand up."
Your first adornment is a thick leather chastity belt, complete with vaginal and anal plugs. The well-lubed plugs slide in easily enough, and I snug the crotch strap tight against the waistband and secure it in place with a small padlock.
“Hands on your head,” I say as I retrieve a heavily boned leather corset from my desk, wrap the stiff garment around your torso, and begin lacing it up. The corset is custom-made, and it nestles precisely into your curves. As the laces tighten, your waist shrinks but your bust appears to swell and your hips to flare. I pass the laces’ long ends twice around your waist and knot them off tightly.
You turn catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. What you see makes you smile. You watch in the mirror as I retrieve the posture collar and buckle it around your neck.
“Now hold out one arm.” I ignore your puzzled look and fetch the rest of your outfit -- full-length leather arm and leg splints. They match your corset and are boned every bit as heavily. You watch, fascinated, as I buckle them onto your limbs. When I finish, I step back so you can see your reflection in the mirror. This time your eyes go wide.
You stand like some leathern robot, legs spread slightly and arms straight and stiff at your sides. The heavy collar holds your chin erect.
“You’re going to like this gag,” I say. Your brow furrows as I lift it to your face. It’s a leather panel gag, but there’s no ball. Instead, the panel sports two athletic-style mouth guards, one each for your upper and lower teeth.
“I’m told this is the most secure, silencing gag there is,” I say cheerily as I press the mouth guards into your waiting mouth and adjust the harness’ head straps.
You let out a sharp squeak as I pick you up, carry you to the sofa and lay you down on your back.
“I don’t want you to have to stare at the ceiling while you’re in this, so I’ve arranged for some entertainment.” From the wall above the sofa I pull out a swivel-mount TV monitor and position it directly above your face.
“I’m going to push two buttons now. One starts two hours’ worth of bondage films clips. The other starts four vibrators -- two buried inside you and two in the bra cups of that corset. The vibes are set to ‘low.’ Between the vibes and the movies, I think you’re in for a pleasant couple of hours. Have fun.”
Her
Without even giving your words time to sink in, you press the buttons and throw me into a world of bliss. With my arms and legs locked in stiff leather sleeves there's little I could do to struggle even if I wanted to, and I really don't want to.
The very act of being restrained generally gets my fires smoldering, so when the vibes begin contributing their soft thrum it only takes seconds for my nipples to stiffen and my loins to add their own juices to the plugs' lubricant.
At the same time, an image of a woman's glistening pussy appears on the screen overhead. Damn if that's not all too accurate. The image expands to reveal how the woman is locked down in a contorted position, lying on her back with her legs spread in the air, held firmly in place by ropes. The video hasn't even shown her face yet but it doesn't matter. She is sexuality incarnate, a nubile body to be manipulated to the cusp of the pleasure she so wantonly seeks.
Not unlike yours truly, I think with a stab of embarrassment. My restraints provide a tad more coverage, but are no less objectifying. They impede my mobility and stifle my speech, denying any action I might want to instigate of my own will. In a world obsessed with freedom of speech, finding myself deprived of all meaningful forms of self-expression is a disconcerting reality indeed. Only my eyes remain free to dart about, and I suspect that's only because you enjoy staring into them as I struggle in your bondage.
Much like the woman on-screen, my pleasure is subject to your whim. Except your fingers don't even need to reach out to my glistening pussy; they need simply tap a button. It's as if the remote you hold is mapped directly to my arousal, rendering my sexuality, my entire being, into just another object of entertainment.
My breathing is irregular and quickening by the second thanks to your idle fingers and the variable-speed vibrators inside me. In fact, the puff of air escaping my nostrils is louder than any sound I can muster through the gag. I've never felt so impotent.
The image on the screen changes, and having little else to occupy my attention, I watch with reluctant interest. A luscious redheaded girl adorns the screen now, her hair curled unlike my straight locks, but nearly the same shade of ruby red. She is completely naked, her pale figure stretched out with her wrists tied overhead and her tiptoed feet secured to the floor. She appears to be in a dream-like state, and judging by her puffy pink pussy and striped navel, this is not the beginning of her predicament. A man approaches and roughly grabs her modest breasts, fingers sliding across their mass until he reaches her nipples. He pinches them, apparently hard enough to rouse her from whatever bliss she'd been inhabiting.
As the man on-screen continues to torment the redhead's nipples and applies clamps to them, I feel my own nipples twitch and harden and wish someone was paying them similar attention. My arms flop uselessly by my sides, my efforts to reach my corseted bust merely nudging the side of the corset.
Somewhere inside me I know I should be ashamed of the desires I'm feeling -- desires to be taken and manhandled and even pinched and prodded if it meant receiving attention to the parts of my body that are crying out for it. But such prudish thoughts are quickly snuffed out by the droning vibrations working against my sensitive flesh. To coin a term, I am trapped in slutspace, and only you hold the controls to my release. Whether that release will be in the physical sense or in the sexual sense... well, all I can do is beg with my eyes and hope to influence you towards the latter.
To be continued...
Him
“Wakey, wakey,” I chirp, clinking a shackle chain that protrudes from the covers. “C’mon, sleeping beauty. Time to hit the loo. You won’t want anything on your bladder for your next -- um -- ‘arrangement.’”
I walk you to the door of the restroom, savoring the metallic rattle of your ankle-chains as you shuffle beside me. “Go ahead and do your business.”
You emerge a couple of minutes later and we stroll toward the den to the rhythm of your fetters’ music. Clank. Scrape. Clank. Scrape. Clank...
I guide you toward the sofa, where I bid you sit while I unlock the heavy gyves.
“Let’s swap that steel for some leather. Lots and lots of leather,” I say gently, enjoying the twinkle my words bring to your eyes. "Stand up."
Your first adornment is a thick leather chastity belt, complete with vaginal and anal plugs. The well-lubed plugs slide in easily enough, and I snug the crotch strap tight against the waistband and secure it in place with a small padlock.
“Hands on your head,” I say as I retrieve a heavily boned leather corset from my desk, wrap the stiff garment around your torso, and begin lacing it up. The corset is custom-made, and it nestles precisely into your curves. As the laces tighten, your waist shrinks but your bust appears to swell and your hips to flare. I pass the laces’ long ends twice around your waist and knot them off tightly.
You turn catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. What you see makes you smile. You watch in the mirror as I retrieve the posture collar and buckle it around your neck.
“Now hold out one arm.” I ignore your puzzled look and fetch the rest of your outfit -- full-length leather arm and leg splints. They match your corset and are boned every bit as heavily. You watch, fascinated, as I buckle them onto your limbs. When I finish, I step back so you can see your reflection in the mirror. This time your eyes go wide.
You stand like some leathern robot, legs spread slightly and arms straight and stiff at your sides. The heavy collar holds your chin erect.
“You’re going to like this gag,” I say. Your brow furrows as I lift it to your face. It’s a leather panel gag, but there’s no ball. Instead, the panel sports two athletic-style mouth guards, one each for your upper and lower teeth.
“I’m told this is the most secure, silencing gag there is,” I say cheerily as I press the mouth guards into your waiting mouth and adjust the harness’ head straps.
You let out a sharp squeak as I pick you up, carry you to the sofa and lay you down on your back.
“I don’t want you to have to stare at the ceiling while you’re in this, so I’ve arranged for some entertainment.” From the wall above the sofa I pull out a swivel-mount TV monitor and position it directly above your face.
“I’m going to push two buttons now. One starts two hours’ worth of bondage films clips. The other starts four vibrators -- two buried inside you and two in the bra cups of that corset. The vibes are set to ‘low.’ Between the vibes and the movies, I think you’re in for a pleasant couple of hours. Have fun.”
Her
Without even giving your words time to sink in, you press the buttons and throw me into a world of bliss. With my arms and legs locked in stiff leather sleeves there's little I could do to struggle even if I wanted to, and I really don't want to.
The very act of being restrained generally gets my fires smoldering, so when the vibes begin contributing their soft thrum it only takes seconds for my nipples to stiffen and my loins to add their own juices to the plugs' lubricant.
At the same time, an image of a woman's glistening pussy appears on the screen overhead. Damn if that's not all too accurate. The image expands to reveal how the woman is locked down in a contorted position, lying on her back with her legs spread in the air, held firmly in place by ropes. The video hasn't even shown her face yet but it doesn't matter. She is sexuality incarnate, a nubile body to be manipulated to the cusp of the pleasure she so wantonly seeks.
Not unlike yours truly, I think with a stab of embarrassment. My restraints provide a tad more coverage, but are no less objectifying. They impede my mobility and stifle my speech, denying any action I might want to instigate of my own will. In a world obsessed with freedom of speech, finding myself deprived of all meaningful forms of self-expression is a disconcerting reality indeed. Only my eyes remain free to dart about, and I suspect that's only because you enjoy staring into them as I struggle in your bondage.
Much like the woman on-screen, my pleasure is subject to your whim. Except your fingers don't even need to reach out to my glistening pussy; they need simply tap a button. It's as if the remote you hold is mapped directly to my arousal, rendering my sexuality, my entire being, into just another object of entertainment.
My breathing is irregular and quickening by the second thanks to your idle fingers and the variable-speed vibrators inside me. In fact, the puff of air escaping my nostrils is louder than any sound I can muster through the gag. I've never felt so impotent.
The image on the screen changes, and having little else to occupy my attention, I watch with reluctant interest. A luscious redheaded girl adorns the screen now, her hair curled unlike my straight locks, but nearly the same shade of ruby red. She is completely naked, her pale figure stretched out with her wrists tied overhead and her tiptoed feet secured to the floor. She appears to be in a dream-like state, and judging by her puffy pink pussy and striped navel, this is not the beginning of her predicament. A man approaches and roughly grabs her modest breasts, fingers sliding across their mass until he reaches her nipples. He pinches them, apparently hard enough to rouse her from whatever bliss she'd been inhabiting.
As the man on-screen continues to torment the redhead's nipples and applies clamps to them, I feel my own nipples twitch and harden and wish someone was paying them similar attention. My arms flop uselessly by my sides, my efforts to reach my corseted bust merely nudging the side of the corset.
Somewhere inside me I know I should be ashamed of the desires I'm feeling -- desires to be taken and manhandled and even pinched and prodded if it meant receiving attention to the parts of my body that are crying out for it. But such prudish thoughts are quickly snuffed out by the droning vibrations working against my sensitive flesh. To coin a term, I am trapped in slutspace, and only you hold the controls to my release. Whether that release will be in the physical sense or in the sexual sense... well, all I can do is beg with my eyes and hope to influence you towards the latter.
To be continued...
Last edited by OldTUGger 4 years ago, edited 2 times in total.
Links to all of my stories can be found here in the Story Catalog: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=46&t=6023
This tale keeps on getting better and better. I love the switching perspective between the protagonists.
Another dynamite entry into your pantheon of great stories.
Another dynamite entry into your pantheon of great stories.
View my latest story, Revelation, here;
https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=8719
To view it's prequel Devastation, please click below;
https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=7458
https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=8719
To view it's prequel Devastation, please click below;
https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=7458
Part 20
Him
As you watch the erotic images on the TV monitor, squirming almost imperceptibly in your rigid restraints, I pick up a pile of straps from the desk and saunter over to the sofa.
From beneath the cushions I pull out eight webbed D-ring anchor points, three on each side and one at each end, and use them to strap you down. Not that you could move much, anyway, but by the time I finish you’re almost completely immobile -- arms strapped to your sides and your legs strapped as far apart as the sofa’s width allows.
Your eyes follow me as I tighten and buckle the straps, and your eyebrows furrow as you feel me unlock the chastity belt and pull out the still-thrumming plugs. I can almost read your thoughts: Now what’s he going to do to me?
Your eyes grow wide when you see the answer: a powerful reciprocating saw with a sizable dildo fastened to the business end.
“Crude people call these things ‘fucksaws.’ I prefer the term, ‘reciprocating pleasure device.’ I’m not sure how it compares to the Sybian. Perhaps you can tell me later -- if you can speak, that is.”
I slide the phallus into your dripping sex and start the saw. A custom rheostatic control keeps the strokes slow at first, and your pelvis twitches in rhythm with each stroke.
Every minute or so, I crank the power up a notch or so. It isn’t long before your hips can no longer match the saw’s strokes. At that point, I crank the knob up to maximum and let it pound you.
Her
I cry out into my gag as the dildo plunges in and out of my immobilized pussy at a rate faster and more consistent than any man has before.
It's almost too much; I twist and squirm but nothing I do can help me escape from the pounding machine. My nerves are on fire, absorbing pleasure faster than they can process it. My eyes roll back into my head, my mind too preoccupied to make sense of my surroundings. My skin itches all over as sweat begins pouring off me. My thighs clench and relax in place, driving home just how powerless I am to stop the assault.
I vaguely sense your hand stroking my hair, cradling my cheek, and sliding down to my gleaming chest. Your fingers massage the perspiration around my areolae as I huff in satisfaction.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" you whisper seductively as the saw continues to pound into me below. I try to reply, I do, but my expressive blue-grey eyes are my best medium of communication at the moment and right now they're not responding to my will.
You chuckle and turn your attention south. Your finger swirls lazily down my sternum, across my navel, and finds the rosy button at the parting of my nether lips. My clit is vibrating gently at the force of the pounding, but otherwise has no direct stimulation itself. This abruptly changes as your finger circles around it, digging it out from the folds of flesh that conceal it.
Where before the fucksaw had drummed into me faster than my body's arousal response could process, now combined with the clitoral stimulation from your intrepid finger I'm brought swiftly to the edge of climax and held there. Held there because your finger suddenly retracts as if scared off by the throbbing beast it has awoken. My engorged clitoris hangs in the air, unattended, and for all my struggles, release is denied.
Oh, I will cum eventually from the thrusting fucksaw alone, but not half as powerfully than if your finger returns to my clit.
Him
As much as I enjoy edging you, I enjoy even more seeing you turned inside-out by a powerful climax.
I tease your swollen pleasure center a bit more before I switch on a mini-wand and press it home.
Her
The vibe has barely touched my clit when my muscles clench and an electric climax jolts through my body. It begins at my pussy but in moments everything from my toes to my ears is tingling as wave after wave of pleasure rips through me. I must look like I'm possessed, so vigorous are my spasms.
The fucksaw and wand continue their torments, driving me ever further down the rabbit hole of incoherent bliss. The imagery on the screen above can't hold a candle to the all-consuming sensations I'm feeling now. But the porn is far from my mind now, which my eyes rolled back and my mind drifting closer to oblivion with every passing second.
My pussy is always a highly sensitive erogenous zone, but after a climax any stimulation because unbearable. Yet here I am, bearing it, about to discover the effects of excessive over-stimulation for the first time in my life...
Him
Careful, old boy. Her eyes rolled back again. Probably ought to back off after one or two more orgasms...
I persist with the wand, pushing it ever harder against your clit as the reciprocating saw drives the dildo incessantly into you.
Your abdominal muscles clench and spasm again and again. Your fingers flutter uselessly and your toes curl hard.
After the third orgasm, I throttle back the fucksaw and switch the vibe to its lowest setting. As your body relaxes and your breathing begins to return to normal, I withdraw the devices.
"Well done, Sweet Girl. You were spectacular."
I remove the gag from your parched lips, then set to the time-consuming task of unbuckling the splints.
"I’ll leave the corset on. I know how much you like pressure around your waist. Go clean up, get something to drink and come back here and let me cuddle you a while."
Her
I giggle at the mention of cuddling. I might still be a bit delirious from my ordeal...
It's a few minutes before I feel up to moving of my own accord, but eventually I'm able to pick myself off the sofa and stumble towards the bathroom. It would take hours to restore my skin and makeup to its freshened state, so I simply rinse the sweat off my figure, wring my hair out, and continue to the kitchen for a glass of Coke. The caffeine works wonders on my tired muscles, or at least it feels like it does.
Fully woken from my bliss-induced reverie, I rejoin you on the couch -- which you've now wiped down -- and snuggle against your side.
"Spectacular, was I?" I grin, thighs trembling from the mere memory of that merciless fucksaw.
To be continued...
Him
As you watch the erotic images on the TV monitor, squirming almost imperceptibly in your rigid restraints, I pick up a pile of straps from the desk and saunter over to the sofa.
From beneath the cushions I pull out eight webbed D-ring anchor points, three on each side and one at each end, and use them to strap you down. Not that you could move much, anyway, but by the time I finish you’re almost completely immobile -- arms strapped to your sides and your legs strapped as far apart as the sofa’s width allows.
Your eyes follow me as I tighten and buckle the straps, and your eyebrows furrow as you feel me unlock the chastity belt and pull out the still-thrumming plugs. I can almost read your thoughts: Now what’s he going to do to me?
Your eyes grow wide when you see the answer: a powerful reciprocating saw with a sizable dildo fastened to the business end.
“Crude people call these things ‘fucksaws.’ I prefer the term, ‘reciprocating pleasure device.’ I’m not sure how it compares to the Sybian. Perhaps you can tell me later -- if you can speak, that is.”
I slide the phallus into your dripping sex and start the saw. A custom rheostatic control keeps the strokes slow at first, and your pelvis twitches in rhythm with each stroke.
Every minute or so, I crank the power up a notch or so. It isn’t long before your hips can no longer match the saw’s strokes. At that point, I crank the knob up to maximum and let it pound you.
Her
I cry out into my gag as the dildo plunges in and out of my immobilized pussy at a rate faster and more consistent than any man has before.
It's almost too much; I twist and squirm but nothing I do can help me escape from the pounding machine. My nerves are on fire, absorbing pleasure faster than they can process it. My eyes roll back into my head, my mind too preoccupied to make sense of my surroundings. My skin itches all over as sweat begins pouring off me. My thighs clench and relax in place, driving home just how powerless I am to stop the assault.
I vaguely sense your hand stroking my hair, cradling my cheek, and sliding down to my gleaming chest. Your fingers massage the perspiration around my areolae as I huff in satisfaction.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" you whisper seductively as the saw continues to pound into me below. I try to reply, I do, but my expressive blue-grey eyes are my best medium of communication at the moment and right now they're not responding to my will.
You chuckle and turn your attention south. Your finger swirls lazily down my sternum, across my navel, and finds the rosy button at the parting of my nether lips. My clit is vibrating gently at the force of the pounding, but otherwise has no direct stimulation itself. This abruptly changes as your finger circles around it, digging it out from the folds of flesh that conceal it.
Where before the fucksaw had drummed into me faster than my body's arousal response could process, now combined with the clitoral stimulation from your intrepid finger I'm brought swiftly to the edge of climax and held there. Held there because your finger suddenly retracts as if scared off by the throbbing beast it has awoken. My engorged clitoris hangs in the air, unattended, and for all my struggles, release is denied.
Oh, I will cum eventually from the thrusting fucksaw alone, but not half as powerfully than if your finger returns to my clit.
Him
As much as I enjoy edging you, I enjoy even more seeing you turned inside-out by a powerful climax.
I tease your swollen pleasure center a bit more before I switch on a mini-wand and press it home.
Her
The vibe has barely touched my clit when my muscles clench and an electric climax jolts through my body. It begins at my pussy but in moments everything from my toes to my ears is tingling as wave after wave of pleasure rips through me. I must look like I'm possessed, so vigorous are my spasms.
The fucksaw and wand continue their torments, driving me ever further down the rabbit hole of incoherent bliss. The imagery on the screen above can't hold a candle to the all-consuming sensations I'm feeling now. But the porn is far from my mind now, which my eyes rolled back and my mind drifting closer to oblivion with every passing second.
My pussy is always a highly sensitive erogenous zone, but after a climax any stimulation because unbearable. Yet here I am, bearing it, about to discover the effects of excessive over-stimulation for the first time in my life...
Him
Careful, old boy. Her eyes rolled back again. Probably ought to back off after one or two more orgasms...
I persist with the wand, pushing it ever harder against your clit as the reciprocating saw drives the dildo incessantly into you.
Your abdominal muscles clench and spasm again and again. Your fingers flutter uselessly and your toes curl hard.
After the third orgasm, I throttle back the fucksaw and switch the vibe to its lowest setting. As your body relaxes and your breathing begins to return to normal, I withdraw the devices.
"Well done, Sweet Girl. You were spectacular."
I remove the gag from your parched lips, then set to the time-consuming task of unbuckling the splints.
"I’ll leave the corset on. I know how much you like pressure around your waist. Go clean up, get something to drink and come back here and let me cuddle you a while."
Her
I giggle at the mention of cuddling. I might still be a bit delirious from my ordeal...
It's a few minutes before I feel up to moving of my own accord, but eventually I'm able to pick myself off the sofa and stumble towards the bathroom. It would take hours to restore my skin and makeup to its freshened state, so I simply rinse the sweat off my figure, wring my hair out, and continue to the kitchen for a glass of Coke. The caffeine works wonders on my tired muscles, or at least it feels like it does.
Fully woken from my bliss-induced reverie, I rejoin you on the couch -- which you've now wiped down -- and snuggle against your side.
"Spectacular, was I?" I grin, thighs trembling from the mere memory of that merciless fucksaw.
To be continued...
Links to all of my stories can be found here in the Story Catalog: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=46&t=6023
Part 21
Him
"That's one way of putting it. I'd also add 'deliciously sexy.'"
I reach a hand over your shoulder and slide it down into one of corset's bra cups, gently massaging the feminine softness I encounter there.
We spend the next half hour talking about the weekend so far, but I carefully avoid tipping my hand as to what adventures I have in store for you later.
"Would you like some lunch?" I ask. You smile and nod. "Good. Grilling steaks for one is kind of a lonely thing to do. Put on something sexy and meet me on the patio. Remember, there's a privacy fence. No one will see you."
You ask what sort of outfit I'd like to see.
"Surprise me," I say as I head out the door. "I'm going to fire up the grill. Hope you like filets."
Her
Ah, meat. What every horny girl needs.
I retreat to the guest room and investigate the as-yet-unopened closet in the corner. My eyes light up as I see the assortment of garments inside. The lingerie section alone holds more sets of lingerie than I've owned in my life, and the selection of day wear is no less provocative.
I've decided I like the feeling of a tight corset hugging my waist and the slimming aesthetic it provides, so I put together an outfit featuring a satin underbust corset to gird the outside of my clothes -- a crimson one to match my hair. For the blouse I select a plain black top with a deep plunging neckline which barely leaves my nipples concealed. Far more revealing than anything I'd wear out in public, but this is for your eyes only, so I figure anything more than stark naked is conservative by previous standards.
For the lower half of my outfit I select black sheer stockings with suspenders and a miniskirt-like garter belt. Without panties, anyone looking my way from an inclining angle would see it all... the thought of which gives me a hot rush of adrenaline and trembling thighs.
Finally, I twist my hair into a compact chignon reminiscent of an elven princess. This keeps my long locks off my shoulders and makes my collared neck the first point of contact for any observer's gaze.
I rummage around the shoes at the bottom of the closet and retrieve some shiny three-inch black pumps not unlike the pair you'd confiscated on your doorstep.
When I reach the patio, I'm wearing an infectious smile suitable for a girl who'd experienced so many orgasms in so short a time.
"You're just in time," you inform me, your attention still focused on the barbecue. "Take a seat, Sweet Girl."
I remain standing, hands on my hips, insisting on at least a glance before half of my chosen attire is concealed by the table.
Him
I turn the steaks and then turn toward you.
"Whoa...you're looking especially stunning!" I say, taking in the effect the corset and accessory garments have on your appearance. "Love the hair, too. Have a seat."
I reach under the table and retrieve your light shackles from the seat of my chair. "You know the drill."
Smiling, you hold out your hands and proffer your ankles.
"I can't seem to help myself with the restraints," I say. "I do so enjoy the sight of a woman in bondage."
Then I turn serious.
"A text message came in on your cell phone while you were getting ready. It appears your employers want you back at work tomorrow, and you'll need to leave sometime in the next couple of hours if you want to make it back home and get rested up. I can let you go right after we eat, or we can squeeze in one more scene. Think it over for a moment while I fetch the food."
It kills me to see your smile so quickly turned to a frown. Pangs of disappointment flood me as I turn back to the grill, put the steaks and baked potatoes on a platter, and carry them back to the table.
"Well, what do you think?" I ask.
Her
My mind churns over the options before me. It's a long drive home, and it will take a long shower to purge the aches from my muscles. Nor do I particularly want to arrive at the office smelling like sex. Even so, our sessions have been so much fun that I'm loath to pass up the opportunity for one final tryst. Besides, I wouldn't want to deprive you of that chance either -- perhaps you plan to leave me some souvenirs of our time together. All those different canes hanging on the wall of your den aren't just for decoration, I'm sure.
"Urgh, work has the worst timing," I shake my head. Then a sly smile creeps to my face. "But I don't think I'd forgive myself if I didn't let you kiss this ass goodbye, Sir."
You grin back, your eyes twinkling with ideas for our last scene. I shift uncomfortably in the shackles. Sure, I've loved everything we've done together... in hindsight. In the moment, when the sensations threaten to overwhelm me, sometimes I have second thoughts about giving you so much freedom over my body. So as I think to the scene ahead I'm filled with as much trepidation as excitement... But something tells me you wouldn't have it any other way.
The wooden patio chair is beginning to cleave to my bare flesh, and I'm acutely aware of the dribble of arousal leaking from my slit.
I didn't really think this outfit through, did I?
"The fillets are scrumptious, by the way," I gush, eager to draw attention away from my blushing cheeks. The manacles around my wrists clink softly as I raise another forkful to my mouth.
"Scrumptious, huh," you shoot back teasingly. "Been reading a lot of Austen lately?"
My blush deepens. "No, she would probably say something like, 'My warmest appreciation for the delectable noonday meal you have bestowed upon your humble guest.'"
I look down at my shackled ankles through the slats of the wooden table. The thick metal cuffs and chain do somewhat undermine the classiness of nylon-clad legs and heels. "And she would be mortified at the real reason for this scandalous rendezvous."
You let out a chuckle. "To scandalous rendezvouses, then," you say with a straight face, raising your glass of orange juice.
Him
We carry on with light conversation through the meal, but it's difficult for me to concentrate fully on your words. My mind squirrel-cages all the while, scurrying to come up with a suitable scene with which to conclude our "scandalous rendezvous."
Somewhere between the last of the steak and the first of the ice-cream dessert, inspiration strikes. It's all I can do to keep a devilish grin from commandeering my face.
"I think I've come up with something you'll enjoy -- a 'lovely parting gift,' as the game-show hosts say."
Your eyes sparkle as you look up from your scoops of Rocky Road. "May I ask what you have in store for me, Sir?"
"Let's just say it will have an impact on you," I grin not-too-cryptically.
Your smile tells me all I need to know.
"After we finish here, I'll unlock your shackles and you can go ditch the corset," I suggest. "A trip to the little slave's room might also be a good idea. When you're ready, come down to the basement wearing nothing but heels. Leave your hair up."
Her
Impact.
The word sends a thrill down my spine. Excited and trepidatious: right now that's me to a tee.
I finish up the refreshingly chilled dessert, lick my fingers (somehow I always seem to get dessert on my fingers), and excuse myself from the table.
By the time I disrobe back in my room, the cold ice-cream has fully melted from my mouth and I feel my body warming up once more -- a response that has nothing to do with the comfortable air-conditioned temperature.
I lay the corset and blouse neatly on the bed. If I'm to be wearing only heels, the stockings need to go too. A shame, that -- I really like how sexy my legs look clad in sheer black nylon. Nonetheless, I obey your command and strip to my birthday suit, then slip the heels back on.
Abruptly I change my mind: if the heels are to be part of the scene somehow, might as well go all the way. I swap the three-inch heels for a six-inch pair from the closet and manage to fit my feet into them. I wouldn't normally wear heels like this except on the most formal of occasions, because even for a girl of my stature they're a nuisance to walk in. Hopefully that won't be an issue in bondage; what are you going to do, put me on a treadmill?
Attired as you desired -- that is to say, not at all -- I proceed to the bathroom, or the "little slave's room," as you so deviously put it, and ensure no awkward bodily functions are going to interfere with our play.
All that's left now is to make it to the basement. That could take some time... it's been a while since I walked in such strict heels. I shudder at the prospect of walking down the stairs.
To be continued...
Him
"That's one way of putting it. I'd also add 'deliciously sexy.'"
I reach a hand over your shoulder and slide it down into one of corset's bra cups, gently massaging the feminine softness I encounter there.
We spend the next half hour talking about the weekend so far, but I carefully avoid tipping my hand as to what adventures I have in store for you later.
"Would you like some lunch?" I ask. You smile and nod. "Good. Grilling steaks for one is kind of a lonely thing to do. Put on something sexy and meet me on the patio. Remember, there's a privacy fence. No one will see you."
You ask what sort of outfit I'd like to see.
"Surprise me," I say as I head out the door. "I'm going to fire up the grill. Hope you like filets."
Her
Ah, meat. What every horny girl needs.
I retreat to the guest room and investigate the as-yet-unopened closet in the corner. My eyes light up as I see the assortment of garments inside. The lingerie section alone holds more sets of lingerie than I've owned in my life, and the selection of day wear is no less provocative.
I've decided I like the feeling of a tight corset hugging my waist and the slimming aesthetic it provides, so I put together an outfit featuring a satin underbust corset to gird the outside of my clothes -- a crimson one to match my hair. For the blouse I select a plain black top with a deep plunging neckline which barely leaves my nipples concealed. Far more revealing than anything I'd wear out in public, but this is for your eyes only, so I figure anything more than stark naked is conservative by previous standards.
For the lower half of my outfit I select black sheer stockings with suspenders and a miniskirt-like garter belt. Without panties, anyone looking my way from an inclining angle would see it all... the thought of which gives me a hot rush of adrenaline and trembling thighs.
Finally, I twist my hair into a compact chignon reminiscent of an elven princess. This keeps my long locks off my shoulders and makes my collared neck the first point of contact for any observer's gaze.
I rummage around the shoes at the bottom of the closet and retrieve some shiny three-inch black pumps not unlike the pair you'd confiscated on your doorstep.
When I reach the patio, I'm wearing an infectious smile suitable for a girl who'd experienced so many orgasms in so short a time.
"You're just in time," you inform me, your attention still focused on the barbecue. "Take a seat, Sweet Girl."
I remain standing, hands on my hips, insisting on at least a glance before half of my chosen attire is concealed by the table.
Him
I turn the steaks and then turn toward you.
"Whoa...you're looking especially stunning!" I say, taking in the effect the corset and accessory garments have on your appearance. "Love the hair, too. Have a seat."
I reach under the table and retrieve your light shackles from the seat of my chair. "You know the drill."
Smiling, you hold out your hands and proffer your ankles.
"I can't seem to help myself with the restraints," I say. "I do so enjoy the sight of a woman in bondage."
Then I turn serious.
"A text message came in on your cell phone while you were getting ready. It appears your employers want you back at work tomorrow, and you'll need to leave sometime in the next couple of hours if you want to make it back home and get rested up. I can let you go right after we eat, or we can squeeze in one more scene. Think it over for a moment while I fetch the food."
It kills me to see your smile so quickly turned to a frown. Pangs of disappointment flood me as I turn back to the grill, put the steaks and baked potatoes on a platter, and carry them back to the table.
"Well, what do you think?" I ask.
Her
My mind churns over the options before me. It's a long drive home, and it will take a long shower to purge the aches from my muscles. Nor do I particularly want to arrive at the office smelling like sex. Even so, our sessions have been so much fun that I'm loath to pass up the opportunity for one final tryst. Besides, I wouldn't want to deprive you of that chance either -- perhaps you plan to leave me some souvenirs of our time together. All those different canes hanging on the wall of your den aren't just for decoration, I'm sure.
"Urgh, work has the worst timing," I shake my head. Then a sly smile creeps to my face. "But I don't think I'd forgive myself if I didn't let you kiss this ass goodbye, Sir."
You grin back, your eyes twinkling with ideas for our last scene. I shift uncomfortably in the shackles. Sure, I've loved everything we've done together... in hindsight. In the moment, when the sensations threaten to overwhelm me, sometimes I have second thoughts about giving you so much freedom over my body. So as I think to the scene ahead I'm filled with as much trepidation as excitement... But something tells me you wouldn't have it any other way.
The wooden patio chair is beginning to cleave to my bare flesh, and I'm acutely aware of the dribble of arousal leaking from my slit.
I didn't really think this outfit through, did I?
"The fillets are scrumptious, by the way," I gush, eager to draw attention away from my blushing cheeks. The manacles around my wrists clink softly as I raise another forkful to my mouth.
"Scrumptious, huh," you shoot back teasingly. "Been reading a lot of Austen lately?"
My blush deepens. "No, she would probably say something like, 'My warmest appreciation for the delectable noonday meal you have bestowed upon your humble guest.'"
I look down at my shackled ankles through the slats of the wooden table. The thick metal cuffs and chain do somewhat undermine the classiness of nylon-clad legs and heels. "And she would be mortified at the real reason for this scandalous rendezvous."
You let out a chuckle. "To scandalous rendezvouses, then," you say with a straight face, raising your glass of orange juice.
Him
We carry on with light conversation through the meal, but it's difficult for me to concentrate fully on your words. My mind squirrel-cages all the while, scurrying to come up with a suitable scene with which to conclude our "scandalous rendezvous."
Somewhere between the last of the steak and the first of the ice-cream dessert, inspiration strikes. It's all I can do to keep a devilish grin from commandeering my face.
"I think I've come up with something you'll enjoy -- a 'lovely parting gift,' as the game-show hosts say."
Your eyes sparkle as you look up from your scoops of Rocky Road. "May I ask what you have in store for me, Sir?"
"Let's just say it will have an impact on you," I grin not-too-cryptically.
Your smile tells me all I need to know.
"After we finish here, I'll unlock your shackles and you can go ditch the corset," I suggest. "A trip to the little slave's room might also be a good idea. When you're ready, come down to the basement wearing nothing but heels. Leave your hair up."
Her
Impact.
The word sends a thrill down my spine. Excited and trepidatious: right now that's me to a tee.
I finish up the refreshingly chilled dessert, lick my fingers (somehow I always seem to get dessert on my fingers), and excuse myself from the table.
By the time I disrobe back in my room, the cold ice-cream has fully melted from my mouth and I feel my body warming up once more -- a response that has nothing to do with the comfortable air-conditioned temperature.
I lay the corset and blouse neatly on the bed. If I'm to be wearing only heels, the stockings need to go too. A shame, that -- I really like how sexy my legs look clad in sheer black nylon. Nonetheless, I obey your command and strip to my birthday suit, then slip the heels back on.
Abruptly I change my mind: if the heels are to be part of the scene somehow, might as well go all the way. I swap the three-inch heels for a six-inch pair from the closet and manage to fit my feet into them. I wouldn't normally wear heels like this except on the most formal of occasions, because even for a girl of my stature they're a nuisance to walk in. Hopefully that won't be an issue in bondage; what are you going to do, put me on a treadmill?
Attired as you desired -- that is to say, not at all -- I proceed to the bathroom, or the "little slave's room," as you so deviously put it, and ensure no awkward bodily functions are going to interfere with our play.
All that's left now is to make it to the basement. That could take some time... it's been a while since I walked in such strict heels. I shudder at the prospect of walking down the stairs.
To be continued...
Links to all of my stories can be found here in the Story Catalog: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=46&t=6023
Part 22
Him
I chuckle as I watch you descend the stairway so gingerly.
"I wholeheartedly approve of your shoes, Sweet Girl...provided you survive long enough to reach the bottom step," I joke.
You flash a sheepish grin as you complete your journey.
I motion you toward me. "Stand here."
A leather blindfold goes on first, followed by yet another harness-gag. The heavy metal shackles are next, and I watch the goosebumps rise on your arms and calves as I lock them on.
"Step over here," I say, taking your arm and guiding you to the correct spot. The ankle shackles' chains rattle as you drag them across the floor.
"Feet wide apart."
You comply, but the towering 6-inch heels allow you to spread your legs only so far before your feet begin to teeter sideways.
"That's good." Bending down, I stretch each chain taut and lock them to eyebolts in the floor.
"Hands over your head." In short order, the chains to your wrist shackles are locked securely to two more bolts in the ceiling. I step back to examine my handiwork. Your body is stretched into a taut "X," as if you'd been strapped rigidly to a St. Andrews cross.
I reach down and let my fingers wander between your thighs. The moisture on my fingers signals your arousal.
Those fingers, warmed by your juices, knead and massage your nipples until they stand erect. You gasp as the clover clamps crush them. A quick jiggle of the chain elicits a squeak.
Another chain, padlocked to the D-ring atop the harness-gag, gets attached to the ceiling directly overhead, forcing your chin up.
You listen as I move another piece of equipment between your spread legs. It's the sliding stand, this time topped with a silicone dildo and the Hitachi. You feel the thick intruder slide deeply inside your now-dripping sex.
"My, my. Excited, are we?" You blush and nod as much as the chain allows. "Here's how this is going to work: I'm going to start the vibrator on 'low.' At the same time, I'm going to start working you over with this flogger."
I hang the heavy leather falls over your shoulder and let them drape over a clamped breast.
"This will be a variation of 'The Lady's Choice.' Every time you want the Hitachi turned up a notch, snap your fingers once. Every time you want the intensity of the flogging to increase, snap them twice."
I switch the vibe on and step behind you, flogger in hand.
Her
A muted yelp signals the initiation of the vibrator's rumblings. My back arches as I lean forward into the restraints, careful to keep my legs straight and my heels upright.
You strike my upturned ass cheek with the flogger and I flinch in surprise, having assumed you'd wait for the first set of two clicks. I wriggle my ass in protest, which earns me another blow. The impact brings a rush of blood to the affected area, warming my ass, heightening my nerves for each successive strike.
The assault of the leather tails on my soft flesh sends a surge of adrenaline through me as a fight-or-flight response is triggered. Of course, spread and bound as I am I can do neither. I can't stop myself from trying, though, tugging at each chain in unison as if my nubile body has any hope of breaking free.
In my blind, primal state I do recall the one thing I can do to ease the pain, or at least draw my attention away from it. After a few failed attempts, I click my fingers once and flinch as the vibrator pressed against my clit whirs louder and more powerfully than before.
With a dildo buried in my dripping cunt and a powerful vibrator pressed against my engorged button, the infrequent strikes of the flogger fade to the background and I begin to drift into subspace. Why ever would I want the flogging to increase?
Time delivers the answer. After enjoying the gentle yet persistent vibrations pleasuring my sex for a short while, I start to get greedy. My body wants more and more, and like a fool, I click my fingers once and give into those base desires. But the slight increase in power isn't enough. I'm beginning to edge now, and I'm craving more and more stimulation to take me all the way to an explosive climax.
I click my fingers once, twice, and freeze. No! I didn't mean to--
"Mmmppff!"
You bring the flogger down harder, leather tendrils curling around my rosy cheeks and into cracks where no spanking had ever touched. The gag muffles a few choice swearwords as the flogger strikes again. The impacts went from a mild annoyance to genuinely painful with one little mistake.
I click my fingers again, desperate for the purring vibrator to ease my suffering. It's not long before I'm brought to the edge again, thighs trembling at the oscillating pleasure tingling my twitching nerves.
A guttural moan slips past my gag as I climax, legs turning to jelly as pleasure floods through me. My head tilts back in bliss only to be stopped by the chained gag harness. I shake my head back and forth in irritation, causing the chain connecting my nipples to wobble and tug on the cruel clover clamps.
Another wave of pleasure consumes me as sweat begins to form droplets on my skin. The vibrator is quickly becoming too powerful, and soon I might just have to snap twice and let the flogger refocus my senses elsewhere...
To be continued...
Him
I chuckle as I watch you descend the stairway so gingerly.
"I wholeheartedly approve of your shoes, Sweet Girl...provided you survive long enough to reach the bottom step," I joke.
You flash a sheepish grin as you complete your journey.
I motion you toward me. "Stand here."
A leather blindfold goes on first, followed by yet another harness-gag. The heavy metal shackles are next, and I watch the goosebumps rise on your arms and calves as I lock them on.
"Step over here," I say, taking your arm and guiding you to the correct spot. The ankle shackles' chains rattle as you drag them across the floor.
"Feet wide apart."
You comply, but the towering 6-inch heels allow you to spread your legs only so far before your feet begin to teeter sideways.
"That's good." Bending down, I stretch each chain taut and lock them to eyebolts in the floor.
"Hands over your head." In short order, the chains to your wrist shackles are locked securely to two more bolts in the ceiling. I step back to examine my handiwork. Your body is stretched into a taut "X," as if you'd been strapped rigidly to a St. Andrews cross.
I reach down and let my fingers wander between your thighs. The moisture on my fingers signals your arousal.
Those fingers, warmed by your juices, knead and massage your nipples until they stand erect. You gasp as the clover clamps crush them. A quick jiggle of the chain elicits a squeak.
Another chain, padlocked to the D-ring atop the harness-gag, gets attached to the ceiling directly overhead, forcing your chin up.
You listen as I move another piece of equipment between your spread legs. It's the sliding stand, this time topped with a silicone dildo and the Hitachi. You feel the thick intruder slide deeply inside your now-dripping sex.
"My, my. Excited, are we?" You blush and nod as much as the chain allows. "Here's how this is going to work: I'm going to start the vibrator on 'low.' At the same time, I'm going to start working you over with this flogger."
I hang the heavy leather falls over your shoulder and let them drape over a clamped breast.
"This will be a variation of 'The Lady's Choice.' Every time you want the Hitachi turned up a notch, snap your fingers once. Every time you want the intensity of the flogging to increase, snap them twice."
I switch the vibe on and step behind you, flogger in hand.
Her
A muted yelp signals the initiation of the vibrator's rumblings. My back arches as I lean forward into the restraints, careful to keep my legs straight and my heels upright.
You strike my upturned ass cheek with the flogger and I flinch in surprise, having assumed you'd wait for the first set of two clicks. I wriggle my ass in protest, which earns me another blow. The impact brings a rush of blood to the affected area, warming my ass, heightening my nerves for each successive strike.
The assault of the leather tails on my soft flesh sends a surge of adrenaline through me as a fight-or-flight response is triggered. Of course, spread and bound as I am I can do neither. I can't stop myself from trying, though, tugging at each chain in unison as if my nubile body has any hope of breaking free.
In my blind, primal state I do recall the one thing I can do to ease the pain, or at least draw my attention away from it. After a few failed attempts, I click my fingers once and flinch as the vibrator pressed against my clit whirs louder and more powerfully than before.
With a dildo buried in my dripping cunt and a powerful vibrator pressed against my engorged button, the infrequent strikes of the flogger fade to the background and I begin to drift into subspace. Why ever would I want the flogging to increase?
Time delivers the answer. After enjoying the gentle yet persistent vibrations pleasuring my sex for a short while, I start to get greedy. My body wants more and more, and like a fool, I click my fingers once and give into those base desires. But the slight increase in power isn't enough. I'm beginning to edge now, and I'm craving more and more stimulation to take me all the way to an explosive climax.
I click my fingers once, twice, and freeze. No! I didn't mean to--
"Mmmppff!"
You bring the flogger down harder, leather tendrils curling around my rosy cheeks and into cracks where no spanking had ever touched. The gag muffles a few choice swearwords as the flogger strikes again. The impacts went from a mild annoyance to genuinely painful with one little mistake.
I click my fingers again, desperate for the purring vibrator to ease my suffering. It's not long before I'm brought to the edge again, thighs trembling at the oscillating pleasure tingling my twitching nerves.
A guttural moan slips past my gag as I climax, legs turning to jelly as pleasure floods through me. My head tilts back in bliss only to be stopped by the chained gag harness. I shake my head back and forth in irritation, causing the chain connecting my nipples to wobble and tug on the cruel clover clamps.
Another wave of pleasure consumes me as sweat begins to form droplets on my skin. The vibrator is quickly becoming too powerful, and soon I might just have to snap twice and let the flogger refocus my senses elsewhere...
To be continued...
Links to all of my stories can be found here in the Story Catalog: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=46&t=6023
-
RopingRingers
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 488
- Joined: 4 years ago
Poor Raven, having to cut her weekend of carnal satisfaction short to return to the land of boredom and monotony 
Part 23
Him
I chuckle at your frustration, and watch as the tension begins to build within you once again.
Time to up the ante a bit, I muse, laying down the heavy, thuddy flogger and picking up a much lighter one with thin, whippy falls.
The next time she calls for the flogger, she's in for a surprise!
Sensing your discomfiture with the vibrator, I dial back the power a hair -- just enough to lessen the quaking of your thighs.
A slender cane catches my eye. I switch the flogger over to my left hand, which also holds the vibe control, and pick up the cane by its leather grip.
I promised she could control the flogger, I rationalize. I didn't say anything about canes.
On a whim, I flick the cane lightly across your breasts, just above the nipple line.
Her
I want to scream as the rod of hot iron raps the soft flesh above my clamped nipples, but I can only tug in vain at the chains holding my body so lewdly taut. Moments later the sting dulls and I realize I'm overreacting to what was probably just a light tap. But I wasn't expecting the touch of a cane, and stretched and exposed as I am I can't stop myself from shuddering at the realization that it's hovering there, ready to strike again at any time, the blindfold depriving me of any advance warning.
The vibrator working its magic down below quickly draws my focus back to more pleasant thoughts. I almost click my fingers again before I remember how sore my sensitive clit felt moments before.
It really is all in my head, I muse. Still, the line between pleasure and pain shrinks thinner by the second... Will I even be able to tell the difference soon?
Having gained a better understanding of how my body responds to your toys, I begin to play the game more like a pro. Flogging becoming too painful? Snap once and let the vibe do its work. Nether region too sensitive? Snap twice and grimace as blood flows to a new area, away from my hypersensitive sex.
What I don't realize, however, is that you've changed the flogger to one more conducive of sadistic accuracy. You aren't just flogging my ass anymore -- you're flogging a specific strip of flesh across both cheeks, a strip that grows redder and sorer with each successive strike. It took me a few strikes to realize this, with my ass already stinging from your prior workmanship, but as you expertly tag the same strip over and over I can't help but stifle a gasp through my gag. If I wasn't so occupied by pain right now, I would be concerned about what sort of marks you're leaving on my flawless pale skin.
And then there's the cane. Oh, fuck, how I hate canes. Sorry. Foul language aside, canes really do bring out the worst in me. My newly-discovered hatred of canes could have something to do with the leather blindfold that shrouds the timing and placement of each strike in mystery, or it could just be because they're cruel instruments of torture that were banned from any legitimate use years ago. And it's easy to see why. Or feel why, in my case.
The thin wooden rod strikes quick and fast, barely leaving me time to flinch before you ready it for another blow. The only mercy is that the blows are light, but this is hardly any consolation to me at present. When you're being stung by a swarm of bees you don't think at least they're not bigger; no, you think ow ow ow fuck ow.
And so it is with the cane you so skillfully wield in one hand. Specks of spittle fly from my gagged mouth when you strike, and my muscles stand out in relief against my defenseless struggling form. Ironically it is the dildo filling me with such satisfaction that holds me in place, preventing my torso from shifting to evade your strikes. I twist this way and that, but I can only hope to catch the blow on a less painful area of flesh, and even this is a vain hope with my complete blindness.
The wonderful wand vibrator is my only respite. I snap my fingers again and enjoy its whirring stimulation while doing my best to block out the searing flesh that now seems to be everywhere else on my body.
To be continued...
Him
I chuckle at your frustration, and watch as the tension begins to build within you once again.
Time to up the ante a bit, I muse, laying down the heavy, thuddy flogger and picking up a much lighter one with thin, whippy falls.
The next time she calls for the flogger, she's in for a surprise!
Sensing your discomfiture with the vibrator, I dial back the power a hair -- just enough to lessen the quaking of your thighs.
A slender cane catches my eye. I switch the flogger over to my left hand, which also holds the vibe control, and pick up the cane by its leather grip.
I promised she could control the flogger, I rationalize. I didn't say anything about canes.
On a whim, I flick the cane lightly across your breasts, just above the nipple line.
Her
I want to scream as the rod of hot iron raps the soft flesh above my clamped nipples, but I can only tug in vain at the chains holding my body so lewdly taut. Moments later the sting dulls and I realize I'm overreacting to what was probably just a light tap. But I wasn't expecting the touch of a cane, and stretched and exposed as I am I can't stop myself from shuddering at the realization that it's hovering there, ready to strike again at any time, the blindfold depriving me of any advance warning.
The vibrator working its magic down below quickly draws my focus back to more pleasant thoughts. I almost click my fingers again before I remember how sore my sensitive clit felt moments before.
It really is all in my head, I muse. Still, the line between pleasure and pain shrinks thinner by the second... Will I even be able to tell the difference soon?
Having gained a better understanding of how my body responds to your toys, I begin to play the game more like a pro. Flogging becoming too painful? Snap once and let the vibe do its work. Nether region too sensitive? Snap twice and grimace as blood flows to a new area, away from my hypersensitive sex.
What I don't realize, however, is that you've changed the flogger to one more conducive of sadistic accuracy. You aren't just flogging my ass anymore -- you're flogging a specific strip of flesh across both cheeks, a strip that grows redder and sorer with each successive strike. It took me a few strikes to realize this, with my ass already stinging from your prior workmanship, but as you expertly tag the same strip over and over I can't help but stifle a gasp through my gag. If I wasn't so occupied by pain right now, I would be concerned about what sort of marks you're leaving on my flawless pale skin.
And then there's the cane. Oh, fuck, how I hate canes. Sorry. Foul language aside, canes really do bring out the worst in me. My newly-discovered hatred of canes could have something to do with the leather blindfold that shrouds the timing and placement of each strike in mystery, or it could just be because they're cruel instruments of torture that were banned from any legitimate use years ago. And it's easy to see why. Or feel why, in my case.
The thin wooden rod strikes quick and fast, barely leaving me time to flinch before you ready it for another blow. The only mercy is that the blows are light, but this is hardly any consolation to me at present. When you're being stung by a swarm of bees you don't think at least they're not bigger; no, you think ow ow ow fuck ow.
And so it is with the cane you so skillfully wield in one hand. Specks of spittle fly from my gagged mouth when you strike, and my muscles stand out in relief against my defenseless struggling form. Ironically it is the dildo filling me with such satisfaction that holds me in place, preventing my torso from shifting to evade your strikes. I twist this way and that, but I can only hope to catch the blow on a less painful area of flesh, and even this is a vain hope with my complete blindness.
The wonderful wand vibrator is my only respite. I snap my fingers again and enjoy its whirring stimulation while doing my best to block out the searing flesh that now seems to be everywhere else on my body.
To be continued...
Links to all of my stories can be found here in the Story Catalog: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=46&t=6023
Part 24
Him
It's good to be the Dom, I muse as I gaze on your reddened, sweat-covered body.
While you're still floating somewhere in subspace, I twist the thumbscrews and slide the dildo from your tormented sex. You don't seem to notice.
The blindfold comes next. You open your eyes and blink at the sudden wash of light, but don't appear to recognize me or your surroundings.
When I remove the harness gag, you display your first indication of sentience. Your jaw moves slowly back and forth to work out some of the ache, but you don't bother to close your mouth. A trickle of saliva drips onto your chest and rolls toward your breasts.
Before I unlock them, I examine closely your wrists and ankles. The custom-fit manacles, with their smoothly radiused edges, have done their work well. Unless I miss my guess, you won't have to hide any bruises with long-sleeved blouses or opaque stockings.
Two quick turns of the key release your ankles from their fetters, but you don't seem to notice their freedom. You continue so stand, legs splayed wide, atop your skyscraper heels.
With one arm supporting you, I unlock the first wrist cuff, which springs open as soon as the latch disengages. Your arm drops limply to your side. I switch to the other side, and, hugging you to my side, release the other wrist. You slump into my arms.
I carry you to the sofa, cover you with a blanket and wait patiently for you to return from somewhere out beyond the Kuiper Belt.
Her
The comfort of soft sofa cushions against my stinging back eventually alerts me to the change in my circumstance.
My eyes refocus on your affectionate smile as I mentally take stock of my condition. My back, ass, and breasts still sting like crazy from the cane and floggers, and my arms and legs feel as heavy as lead, as if I'd just swam a marathon. My nipples are still numb, and I realize the clamps are still clinging on dearly. I move my hand to pull them off, but you stop me.
"I don't think you're quite ready for that, Sweet Girl."
I nod in acceptance, my throat still too sore to form words. I'd moaned myself hoarse without even realizing.
"So tell me, is that voracious hunger of yours sated yet?" you tease, your tickling fingers making it all too clear you're not talking about my food appetite.
I writhe under your touch, still more sensitive than I'd ever been.
"I'll take that as a yes," you chuckle, giving my pussy a proud slap as my weak arms scramble to cover myself in defense.
"There's not a law about cum-drunk driving, is there?" I joke weakly.
"I daresay you'd be over the limit if there was." Your face turns more serious. "You're welcome to linger here as long as you feel necessary, of course. I'll even lay off the restraints. Mostly."
"That's all right," I sit up shakily. "I'll be good to go in a few minutes. Don't worry about me -- by the time I get home I'll probably be craving another climax already. Uhh…"
I look down at the nipple clamps, my nipples white around the clamps' teeth. Sooner or later they'll have to come off, and I know it's going to hurt like hell.
"Tell you what," you say. "Keep them on. You can take them off when you get home. Something to remember our time together by."
I grimace -- delaying the inevitable won't make it any less painful. But right now I can hardly feel the clamps at all, so I'm content to accept your offer.
"Thanks," I smile, trying to hide the apprehension from my face.
You grin, not fooled for an instant. "You're most welcome, Sweet Girl."
Him
"It probably wouldn't hurt for you to eat a bit before you start for home, but if you need to go right away I could pack you a lunch while you're getting cleaned up and dressed," I continue.
"And if you want to take the clamps off before you go -- now that I think about it, I'm not sure driving with them on would be the safest thing in the world -- you might want to bite down on this," I say, handing you the ball gag you donned when you arrived.
I stand and reach out my hand. "Ready to try to stand?"
You rise, a bit stiff and wobbly at first, but quickly perk up and head off toward the bathroom.
Her
"I've dawdled long enough. Maybe I'll get some Chick-fil-A on the way home." I rise unsteadily to my feet. "Uh... Speaking of getting clothed... Where are my-?"
You point to a nearby closet and I open it to reveal my own clothes, neatly folded, atop one of the shelves.
"Thanks," I say appreciatively, grabbing the pile and heading to the shower one last time.
The hot jets of water do wonders for my aching joints, but there's still the issue of these clover clamps. Biting down on the ball gag, I scrunch my eyes shut and loosen both clamps simultaneously, letting the chain drop to the shower floor.
A moment later my nipples flood with searing pain. I grit my teeth and cradle them in my hands, afraid to apply any more pressure lest I make the pain worse. I drop to my knees and slump against the shower screen, breasts flattened against the glass.
I must have stayed there a full minute, waiting for the throb to subside. Eventually I regain enough composure to finish my shower, careful not to scrub or graze my nipples in the process.
By the time the steamy stream of water has washed the drool, sweat, and juices from my body, my stiff joints and perky nipples have also receded to a manageable throb. I dry myself off and re-dress myself in the clothes I arrived in.
Collecting the gag and nipple clamps in my hand, I exit the exquisite washroom for the last time, reflecting back on the many states in which I'd entered this room.
At the front door you stand waiting to see me off, a small box in your hands.
"You'll need this too," you say with a smile. "Unless you want to keep wearing that collar. It does suit you."
"Oh," I blush, having pushed its presence into the subconscious part of my mind. "I'd better take it off before work. I wouldn't want my colleagues getting the wrong idea!"
"No, we wouldn't want people seeing what a slut you really are," you smirk.
I stare daggers back at you, but my blush only deepens. I snatch the box from your hands and reach for the door handle.
Him
I watch you climb into your car, all the while wondering how many more delights the weekend might have offered if your job hadn't intervened.
You wave and smile pleasantly as you leave.
Well, it was fun while it lasted. I wonder if she'll ever be back...
THE END
Him
It's good to be the Dom, I muse as I gaze on your reddened, sweat-covered body.
While you're still floating somewhere in subspace, I twist the thumbscrews and slide the dildo from your tormented sex. You don't seem to notice.
The blindfold comes next. You open your eyes and blink at the sudden wash of light, but don't appear to recognize me or your surroundings.
When I remove the harness gag, you display your first indication of sentience. Your jaw moves slowly back and forth to work out some of the ache, but you don't bother to close your mouth. A trickle of saliva drips onto your chest and rolls toward your breasts.
Before I unlock them, I examine closely your wrists and ankles. The custom-fit manacles, with their smoothly radiused edges, have done their work well. Unless I miss my guess, you won't have to hide any bruises with long-sleeved blouses or opaque stockings.
Two quick turns of the key release your ankles from their fetters, but you don't seem to notice their freedom. You continue so stand, legs splayed wide, atop your skyscraper heels.
With one arm supporting you, I unlock the first wrist cuff, which springs open as soon as the latch disengages. Your arm drops limply to your side. I switch to the other side, and, hugging you to my side, release the other wrist. You slump into my arms.
I carry you to the sofa, cover you with a blanket and wait patiently for you to return from somewhere out beyond the Kuiper Belt.
Her
The comfort of soft sofa cushions against my stinging back eventually alerts me to the change in my circumstance.
My eyes refocus on your affectionate smile as I mentally take stock of my condition. My back, ass, and breasts still sting like crazy from the cane and floggers, and my arms and legs feel as heavy as lead, as if I'd just swam a marathon. My nipples are still numb, and I realize the clamps are still clinging on dearly. I move my hand to pull them off, but you stop me.
"I don't think you're quite ready for that, Sweet Girl."
I nod in acceptance, my throat still too sore to form words. I'd moaned myself hoarse without even realizing.
"So tell me, is that voracious hunger of yours sated yet?" you tease, your tickling fingers making it all too clear you're not talking about my food appetite.
I writhe under your touch, still more sensitive than I'd ever been.
"I'll take that as a yes," you chuckle, giving my pussy a proud slap as my weak arms scramble to cover myself in defense.
"There's not a law about cum-drunk driving, is there?" I joke weakly.
"I daresay you'd be over the limit if there was." Your face turns more serious. "You're welcome to linger here as long as you feel necessary, of course. I'll even lay off the restraints. Mostly."
"That's all right," I sit up shakily. "I'll be good to go in a few minutes. Don't worry about me -- by the time I get home I'll probably be craving another climax already. Uhh…"
I look down at the nipple clamps, my nipples white around the clamps' teeth. Sooner or later they'll have to come off, and I know it's going to hurt like hell.
"Tell you what," you say. "Keep them on. You can take them off when you get home. Something to remember our time together by."
I grimace -- delaying the inevitable won't make it any less painful. But right now I can hardly feel the clamps at all, so I'm content to accept your offer.
"Thanks," I smile, trying to hide the apprehension from my face.
You grin, not fooled for an instant. "You're most welcome, Sweet Girl."
Him
"It probably wouldn't hurt for you to eat a bit before you start for home, but if you need to go right away I could pack you a lunch while you're getting cleaned up and dressed," I continue.
"And if you want to take the clamps off before you go -- now that I think about it, I'm not sure driving with them on would be the safest thing in the world -- you might want to bite down on this," I say, handing you the ball gag you donned when you arrived.
I stand and reach out my hand. "Ready to try to stand?"
You rise, a bit stiff and wobbly at first, but quickly perk up and head off toward the bathroom.
Her
"I've dawdled long enough. Maybe I'll get some Chick-fil-A on the way home." I rise unsteadily to my feet. "Uh... Speaking of getting clothed... Where are my-?"
You point to a nearby closet and I open it to reveal my own clothes, neatly folded, atop one of the shelves.
"Thanks," I say appreciatively, grabbing the pile and heading to the shower one last time.
The hot jets of water do wonders for my aching joints, but there's still the issue of these clover clamps. Biting down on the ball gag, I scrunch my eyes shut and loosen both clamps simultaneously, letting the chain drop to the shower floor.
A moment later my nipples flood with searing pain. I grit my teeth and cradle them in my hands, afraid to apply any more pressure lest I make the pain worse. I drop to my knees and slump against the shower screen, breasts flattened against the glass.
I must have stayed there a full minute, waiting for the throb to subside. Eventually I regain enough composure to finish my shower, careful not to scrub or graze my nipples in the process.
By the time the steamy stream of water has washed the drool, sweat, and juices from my body, my stiff joints and perky nipples have also receded to a manageable throb. I dry myself off and re-dress myself in the clothes I arrived in.
Collecting the gag and nipple clamps in my hand, I exit the exquisite washroom for the last time, reflecting back on the many states in which I'd entered this room.
At the front door you stand waiting to see me off, a small box in your hands.
"You'll need this too," you say with a smile. "Unless you want to keep wearing that collar. It does suit you."
"Oh," I blush, having pushed its presence into the subconscious part of my mind. "I'd better take it off before work. I wouldn't want my colleagues getting the wrong idea!"
"No, we wouldn't want people seeing what a slut you really are," you smirk.
I stare daggers back at you, but my blush only deepens. I snatch the box from your hands and reach for the door handle.
Him
I watch you climb into your car, all the while wondering how many more delights the weekend might have offered if your job hadn't intervened.
You wave and smile pleasantly as you leave.
Well, it was fun while it lasted. I wonder if she'll ever be back...
THE END
Links to all of my stories can be found here in the Story Catalog: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=46&t=6023
Such a perfect end to a fantastic tale. Really excellent work.
Thank you for posting this.
Thank you for posting this.
View my latest story, Revelation, here;
https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=8719
To view it's prequel Devastation, please click below;
https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=7458
https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=8719
To view it's prequel Devastation, please click below;
https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=7458
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RopingRingers
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 488
- Joined: 4 years ago
Sad to see this one end, there's two stories on here i follow with gusto, and this was the first. Great story guys, you guys write really well together 
it seems the clamps I've bought are cheap and useless though, because even after an hour they come off painlessly 
it seems the clamps I've bought are cheap and useless though, because even after an hour they come off painlessly 
Thanks, everyone, for the kind comments! The story was fun to write, and I appreciate all of you who read it through to its conclusion! 
Links to all of my stories can be found here in the Story Catalog: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=46&t=6023