I allowed myself to get into this, wanted it actually. It's a little late for recanting and second thoughts at this point. Conscious, but not terribly alert I seem to have slipped into the so-called "sub-zone" as the cheap BDSM novels and web-sites call it. I was never terribly sure what that meant, but think I'm starting to get the concept. Allowing someone you trust to take total control of your body, giving it to him until you both feel he owns it. No longer thinking so much as reacting. A complete awareness of every nerve in my body. I feel every coil of the tight ropes around my wrists and ankles. Feel the throbbing of the pulse in my wrists where I pulled the lines even tighter with struggling. The feeling of cool air on my pussy and asshole, still wet and gaping. The ache in my nipples, the crackling of hardened wax all over, and dull throbbing from the welts still swelling on my ass. Lying there, tied spread eagle to a table top, open wider than the gates of hell, I wait for the man to return.
He left the room for a minute guaranteeing to bring back a "surprise", and cheerfully reminding me not to go anywhere. Funny guy, blinking and swallowing are about the extent of my movement right now, and I've had to do plenty of both the past couple of hours. Gazing at the room upside down, my head hanging off the edge of the table, the taste of his cum still slightly bitter in my mouth, my mind races with the thoughts and memories of the evening's earlier events.
I remember the tight slutty skirt I had worn being pulled up around my waist. Being told to bend over and grab my ankles. Trying to balance that way on impossibly high heels while my exposed asshole was probed, poked and fucked to the point of anal rape. Being punished for not taking my ass reaming like a good whore. Counting off the strokes of the braided leather horse whip as is bit into the soft skin of my ass. Crying, losing count, having to start over, getting extra strokes until it was finally over. Feeling his hand, surprisingly gently rubbing my hot sore butt afterwards, telling me softly my ass would be beautiful in a couple of hours when the welts and bruises had ripened.
I recalled being bent lengthwise over a sawhorse, wrists and ankles tied to each of it's legs, the center piece of lumber digging into my chest and belly, my tits hanging down. Tight clamps on each nipple with a chain connecting them. Before clamping my tits, he had run the chain through the handle of a two gallon plastic bucket. The bucket hung several inches from the floor, my nipples stretched tight. Standing in front of me, he aimed his huge cock, and started releasing a long stream of piss into the bucket. Now I understood why he had been swigging on a bottle of water the whole time. He pissed like a racehorse, the bucket getting heavier and heavier, pulling my nipples thin and taut. While the tormenting sensation in my nipples was making me moan and shake, I remember the surprising feeling the hot tongue on my clit. Flicking, licking with long wet strokes, sucking it like a baby at a milk filled breast. The combination of the pain and the unbelievable pleasure had me crying out and groaning. Trembling, juice squirting out of my throbbing cunt as I came, I expected it to stop.
Instead I felt a thumb massaging my swollen clit until I was trembling on the edge. There is a point where the line between pain and pleasure blur, and another orgasm would be torture. I remember begging him to stop when he applied the vibrator to my now too sensitive clit. Spasms, struggling, screaming as I could no longer make any juice, a violent excruciating orgasm that left me sweat drenched and exhausted. Limp and totally spent, it was as this point that he chose to finally fill my cunt with his cock. Too weak to move, I helplessly felt my insides rearranged and pussy stretched and molded to the exact shape of his impaling lust. Only semi wet, it was a tight abusing use of a limp body that was by now just fuck meat with holes. I recollected being released from the sawhorse. The nipple clamps released, the bucket placed in front of me. On my knees, wrists snapped into handcuffs behind me. He knows how much I hate having my hands cuffed like that. He holds the key in front of my face. "Want loose slut? Remember the childhood game of bobbing for apples?" He laughed and dropped the key into the bucket of now cold urine. "I will leave it to you, how badly you want loose."
.... There is more of this story ...