dss waits, hot air from the heater under the window blowing into the room. I enter silently and immediately take a step back from the sauna like room. I move forward and survey dss' preparations.

"Room service!"

dss jumps. Self bound securely, the chair jumps as dss hears the sound of my voice. She is bathed in sweat, the sweet smell of her perspiration mingling with pungent smell of her sex emanating from her cunt.

"Please, please," she whispers.

I remain silent.

"Please get this hood off me," she beseeches me to release her.

I crack open a bottle of Evian, place a straw in the bottle, insert it in the slit in the hood and she drinks deeply.

"Warmed up are you? From this point on dss, speak only when told."

I cup her left breast. Fleshy but firm. Despite her age, her breast has the feel and texture of an eighteen year old.

"Fun is" I murmur.

I move to the right breast and cup it. The left is larger but determine both are suitable for binding either with thin leather or heavy elastic bands. I imagine them engorged and turning purple as I torture them.

I drop the right and begin manhandling the left. I cup it and dig all four fingers and my thumb into her yielding flesh like five steel pincers. dss stifles a moan. I work around the circumference of her breast, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing. The intensity of her moans increase, her legs quivering and her torso moving-attempting to avoid my relentless fingers and the increasing pain.

I drop her left breast and grasp the nipple with my thumb and forefinger. The nipple is hard but slippery with perspiration. I debate using the cloverleaf clamps but dismiss the thought, preferring to feel the pain through my tactile nerve endings. Pinching hard I pull the nipple at a ninety angle from the chest wall. The flesh follows, her udder narrowing and stretching as I pull on the teat. Taunt now she struggles to maintain control. I release some tension, pinch harder and shake her breast vigorously. Her moans reach the pitch of a scream, She shakes in pain.

"Silence! Internalize the pain. Focus dss lest I break out the needles, hairpins or meat skewers." She breathes deeply-long full cleansing breathes.

I cease the shaking and again stretch the breast taunt.

"Good girl dss...are your breasts mine? Do you offer them to me unconditionally?"

"Yes."

"Louder!"

Yes, yes B."

"Thank you slut" as I slap her left breast harshly.

A cry escapes from the hood...

"You know dss, submission is not something you can learn. It is about breaking down the walls built up in your lifetime. It is about trust, vulnerability, caring and honesty. It is about knowing who you are, receiving what you want in your soul. You are not weak-quite the opposite-you are strong, strong in yourself. You do not submit out of weakness or desperation but out of strength, love and trust. Submission is about freedom, letting go of yourself and knowing I am there to catch you when you falter. It is why I've chosen you and you me."

"Spread your legs dss! Move the edge of the chair-spread 'em as wide as the ankle cuffs allow. Wider girlfriend."

I move from her reddening breast down to her pubic area.

"The hair dss, the pubic hair has to go! I prefer a clean palette to work with. Think of your self shaved-how would you explain the shorn look to your husband? Would it turn him on-the pre-pubescent look? Some older men love the little girl look especially when their wife gets a little long in the tooth. "

I slide two fingers down to her clitoral hood.

"Christ you are such a slut! You're wetter than a fish under water. How does your cunt juice flow up hill? Your clit is above your twat hole? Amazing little cum slut."

More to follow.

The waiting continued. As part of the preparations I had to turn the room heater on high. As I sat there the cheap noisy heater in front of the window blew hot air on me. At first it was just noisy, but now it was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable. It had to be eighty degrees in here. Under the hood it was much hotter.

The hood retained my heat. I could feel drops of sweat running down the back of my neck and under my eyes. The supple leather was no longer glove soft. The moisture made it irritating. I had to get it off. My panicking only added to my misery. Itches went untouched. I tried getting those spots by rubbing my head against my shoulder. Panic is never a good thing. In all my past experiences the top would tell me to breathe, concentrate on your breathing. And that's what I tried to do. I made big breaths making sure I blew all of my air out of the mouth hole so none of it would escape into the hood.

Self-bondage and being left alone in bondage is always risky. Things can and often do go wrong. I knew I was not in a good spot. I had done this to myself, for someone I have never met in person. I had gone against all the advice I was ever give. How stupid could I have been?

I was covered in sweat. I could feel beads of sweat run down my back and into the crack of my ass. I had made sure I was bathed and smooth before I came. I even cleaned my bowels for him. Now I felt like I was in the middle of a workout. And I am sure I smelled like it too.

The mantra I kept repeating in my head, "you will be alright, you will be alright'. That's when I heard the door open.

"Room service" the male voice said as the door opened. My brain didn't have the time to process if it was really room service or not, because I shouted out, "Please get it off me, Please!!"

"Very nice" was all that was said. I could hear and feel him walking around me as if to check out the situation I had put myself in. Then a straw was placed through the opening in the hood and into my mouth. Sipping the cold-water help put me to ease. He then turned off the heater.

Standing right next to me “I see you are warmed up. Do not talk unless you are spoken to.” The first touch came from his hand cupping and lifting my breast. Picking it up and letting it fall back to my torso. The same was done with my other breast. "Oh these are going to be a lot of fun." The flopping around of my tits continued while I flashed on our conversation about breast play. I recalled telling him how much I liked it and how I responded better to it than I did pussy torment. His part of the conversation was about needles and nails. Our exchanged ended with him asking if I would offer my tits to him for his pleasure. A simple 'yes' was said at the time.

He was no longer cupping my breasts to raise them. His fingers were now doing the work. Pinching my nipples he used that grip to lift and distort the natural shape of my breasts before dropping them again. My breathing rate increased as his hold on my nipples increased. Then holding only one nipple in his fingers he pulled my tit out as far as it would go. A hard slap came down on my vulnerable tit. A cry came from under the hood.

The hand that was holding my nipple now grabbed my pubic hair. He pulled my hips to the edge of the chair, “Spread your legs open”. As his grip loosen on my hair, I felt ashamed how easy it was for him to slip his middle and ring fingers into me. My hips bucked as he passed his thumb over my clit. “Such a whore. I wonder what your husband would think?”

These acts were not about pleasure. They were about power and control. B had stepped away from me. It was then that I heard the drawer slide open and the zipper on my purse open.

Until now we only knew our online personas. This was quickly changing. Comments were made about the family photo that was in my wallet. He read out loud my address. I felt violated by him knowing all these details about me. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Our personal lives where to be off limits.

“Please, I have to go to the bathroom.” I said. “So go” was the reply. This is how the conversation went, until it was made clear I could go or not go, that it was my choice. As he continued to comment on the discoveries he made in my purse, I could no longer hold my pee. I let it go, making a mess on the carpeted floor, my legs, and the chair. “I am thinking the motel is going to be charging your card for that.”

During all of this the racket going from the family in the next room as apparent. While it didn’t occur to me then, I often think about how different things can be going on at the same time. Kids watching Disney in one room and just a few feet away a Sadist sizing up his prey in the next.

The knife blade was right up next to my breast. Then the point of it pressed into my soft flesh. Panic entered my mind again. Permanent marking were not to be on the table. Running the blade down over my stomach I was told to spread my legs again. The point found my clit and I jumped as it was pressed into me. I was warned to be still or suffered the consequences. It continued down my legs until it reached to rope that was securing my legs. With ease both pieces were cut and my ankles were freed.

As soon as that happen he flipped the chair foreword. In a split second I was laying on my stomach with the chair on top of me. The force of the action hurt my shoulders and crushed my breasts. I was stunned with the quickness and power of the movement. Using his body weight on me, he quickly uncuffed and recuffed my hands in front of me. As soon as that was done, the leather cuffs on my ankles were locked together.

“The walls are too thin to play here,” he said as I was stuffed into an oversize suitcase.

II

I wait.

Minutes pass. I picture in my mind's eye dss following my written instructions. Stripping herself, folding her clothes neatly in the single dresser, raising the setting on the thermostat to the highest setting, the tightening of the leather ankles cuffs and dss binding her ankles to the chair legs. I imagine her balancing the cold stainless steel cuffs on her thighs as she slips the leather hood over head, struggling to lace it tightly, buckling the O collar at the base of the hood and the final step of adding the Velcro blindfold. I omitted the addition of penis gag intentionally-choosing to allow dss the opportunity to be vocal. Finally I picture my slut struggling to secure the cuffs the encircle her wrists making her one with chair

Impatiently I drum my figures on the leather steering wheel. I've waited too long to possess this woman but stealth and patience are part of the DNA of the predator.

I try to imagine dss' growing uncertainty. She is resolute in her commitment to accept whatever I demand from her arising out of a maniacal demand to please and to perform to please me but this inaction, this waiting coupled with the stifling heat is wearing on her. Will I show or simply disappear? How to escape? How long to wait? How long has she been waiting?

Inside the hood the heat is stifling. Her hair is soaked, perspiration trickles down her neck, her back over her breasts-only her cunt is wetter than her hair and face...

After 45 minutes I emerge from behind the wheel. Before I can take two steps a rusty minivan slides into the space to the right of dss' car and disgorges a pregnant woman and four noisy kids. They enter the unit adjacent to dss' unit. Casually I grab my gear bag, pause and kneel by dss' car, secure the room key and move to her door. ..

B's Entry Part I

Knowing the day, time and the hotel I arrived thirty minutes before the appointed time I had instructed dog slut sallie to arrive. The motel was a short stay dump on the turnpike-a rent by the hour no tell motel situated between a Ruth Chris Steak House on the south side and a discount warehouse liquor box store on the north. I cruised the nearly empty parking lot unable to locate a shaded secluded place to to observe unnoticed dss' arrival. Mildly perturbed, I opted for a shaded spot at the box store-left the top down and switched the IPOD to Yo-Yo Ma. Nothing to do but wait.

dss did not disappoint. One car, driven by a lone women pulled into the motel lot. She had arrived at the designated time-an indication that she was committed to her submission and what degradation and pain lay ahead for her. Staying behind the steering wheel she hesitated, both hands on the wheel. She scanned the empty lot, hung her head momentarily, shrugged her shoulders, exited the vehicle and resolutely headed toward the office.

I savored her appearance. For a woman sliding toward sixty she was remarkably fit-another indication of her narcissism. Dark hair-strong legs-attractive ass and an easy gait. My cock surged with the thoughts of what I had in store for her body and her psyche. She disappeared into the reception area handed over the cash to the aged woman in the purple hajib and was given the box I had left in dss' name two days earlier when I had made the reservation.

dss exited, looked again at the key in her hand, parked her car head in in front of the corner unit at the end of the motel and disappeared into the room.

Minutes passed. I waited. She re-emerged, backed her car into parking space and headed purposely toward the reception office. I enjoyed the roll of hips as she strode across the empty lot-head up-eyes sweeping the lot in all directions one last time before entering the office. Minutes passed. She re-emerged, strode quickly back to her car, furtively glanced around the lot twice and placed a second room key on her car tire. She paused before entering the room, surveyed the lot yet again and with eyes that reflected the resignation of the condemned she disappeared into the room.

Welcome back dss!

We have been friends on and off for years. Yet we have never met each other. Both of us are happily married, with good families and friends. A common secret is what draws us together. He is a dominant sadistic male. I am a masochistic female. His hot button is pain, mine is degradation.

It's not that I don't have a high pain threshold, its just that its been years since I was made to welcome pain as part of my pleasure. Being 56 it scares me now. I feel being a 'pain slut', as he calls it, is a young woman's game. His insists otherwise. Still it scares me.

It not that thoughts of his desires don't excite me. I was once that younger woman that learned all to well how to accept the type of pleasure a sadist gives. We know each other well. I know it's not just a simple spanking that interests him. The level to witch he will go to make himself hard is much deeper. Much, much deeper.

Up until now our play has been cyber. Tasks given, reports made. He has discovered humiliating tasks, some involving my unknowing husband, have produced more satisfying results than the self inflected pain tasks. ''B" insists we have to meet. Knowing what is expected I tell him I can't unless an opportunity arises.

Well an opportunity arose. As a Father's day present, our son invited my husband to visit him for an all paid vacation. The trip is something my husband has wanted to do for a long while, a rafting trip down the Snake River. I trip that would take him away for two weeks. On top of that cell service doesn't exist there. Not only would he be out of touch, no one would be checking in with me.

Subconsciously, I knew when I casually mentioned the trip to B what his reaction would be. We can do this now when the marks on your body have had time to heal or later when they will still be there when he gets home. I agreed to meet him the first weekend he was gone.

There were no real negotiations about the scene. B assured me if everything I have told him over the years was true, I would be ok. If not, I would be in for a shock of a life time. There were conditions on his part. I was told he would make the room reservations, but I would be the one checking in and paying for it.

B makes four times the amount of my household income and I protested. I was told he was not going to pay to play with me. That if I wanted to see him, to continue to play with him, I was the one that had to figure out how to cover the cost. He joked with me, if I needed to I could go out like a common whore and give bj's to get the money. Of course I felt it was just another way for him to humiliate me. I had to pay for the room so he could come in to use me.

Giving the receptionist my name, she checked me in and then gave me a package.It flashed in my mind, this is another reason I had to pay. It was my name in the resister. B didn't want his name there, he had too much to lose. Opening the package up in the room I found, a set of steel handcuffs (no key), a leather hood, a set of leather cuffs for my ankles, and two hanks of rope. A note with further instructions was also in the box.

I first had to go back and request another key to the room. I was then to text the room number to B. I needed to put the extra key on the top of my right front tire of my car. Returning to the room I was to make sure the shades on the window were as open as they could be. Next I was to place the armed desk chair in the middle of the room facing the window. It was to be close enough to the window so if anyone wanted to see it they could, but not too close as to draw attention to it.

Once the room was set, it was time to prepare myself. I was to put all of my clothes in one of the drawers. After attaching the leather ankle cuffs I was to tie them to the front legs of the chair. Next came the lacing on of the hood. Finally, after putting my arms under the arms of the chair, I locked myself into the handcuffs behind the chair's back.

Panic raced through me as I attached that last link on the cuffs. I knew I couldn't get out of this without the help of someone. What would happen if there was a fire? Shit, I didn't pee before doing this. All types of thoughts flooded my head. I knew I needed to calm myself. I did so my thinking he had to be watching from outside. He would be here soon. Soon wasn't part of his game.

The room he picked was a ground floor corner room. A side entrance to the hotel shared a wall with the room. I could hear the side door open and close. At first I assumed it was B, but no it was other people staying in the hotel. I could hear them talking and laughing as they came and went. I could tell if it was one or more people. I even heard kids voices. What if their parents saw me and complained to the management. Would I be arrested?

From dss

B,

This is the email I was writing when I lied to my husband....

He wanted to have sex Saturday night and I asked him to go down on me. While he was eating me I laid back with my knees up and legs spread wide. While he was doing his thing I got lost in fantasy.

It went something like this. I was tightly bound in the position I was in; on my back feet to my ass, legs wide open. You put a clear plastic bag over my head. You wanted to see my face while you controlled whether I was breathing or not. Another man was at work on my clit and pussy. Using a dildo and vibrator he would bring me close to orgasm. The two of you worked together. Just as my body wanted to come, you would turn off the air and panic would set in. Just as my mind and body has learned to associate pain with pleasure, you were teaching me to do the same with lack of air. Your cock was hard as you watched my face react to the power you had over me. If I was going to come it was your decision, if I was going to breath mylast breath if was your decision.

I came hard and my poor husband thought it was all him.

dss

Long Absence

Is over. I'm back.

I'M BACK

I am back. New posting soon!

For dss

After months of emails and communication, it has come down to this. dss has read and reread my emailed set of instructions, memorized them and now signals with her right blinker as she moves from the middle lane to the far right lane in anticipation of the upcoming exit.

Earlier in the day she deposited her husband and children on the noon flight to Florida. As dusk settles in she has already received the call telling her they've arrived safely in Orlando and she now nervously considers what she is about to undertake and experience over the next few days. Of immediate concern is the weather. While the temperature is in the mid forties, she is wearing only her Burberry trench coat and her best single strand set of pearls. The hand cuffs and blacked out sunglasses are on the seat beside her. She checks her appearance in the mirror for the seventh time. Her dark hair is piled high on her head, the lipstick blood red and heavy eye make up accentuating the color of her eyes.

She exits and waits for the left turn arrow to signal a break in the traffic so she can enter the park and ride off 91 north. Lost in thought and anticipation, the horn behind brings her back from her day dreaming and she accelerates quickly into the lot and parks under the lone light close to the bus shelter nose of the car head in.

She exits the car and surveys the the commuter lot in the darkening afternoon. There is no movement. She hits the lock button of the fob twice-the car locks popping into place, the lights flashing and the horn signaling that her vehicle is secure. She moves into the shelter, faces the bus schedule, places the blacked out sunglasses on, and though rendered sightless she poses as if she's reading the route schedule. She recognizes that if she takes the next step, there will be no turning back. She sighs, hesitates and them withdraws both arms from the sleeves of her Burberry. She places the hand cuff on her left wrist and closes it. She places the left underneath the trench coat behind her back, struggles to place her right behind her back and latches that closed as well. The right closes-latching loudly with a metallic clink. Her stomach flips. She knows what lies in front of her just as surely as she knows there is no turning back now.

The sheltered from the wind she feels the temperature drop and the late afternoon darkens. The wind swirls around her ankles and the chill can be felt through the soles of her black stiletto's. Blinded by the darkened sunglasses, she hears the commuter bus enter the lot circle and hears the hiss of the air brakes outside the shelter. dss can hear muffled good nights, foot steps leading away from the bus and the sound of cars starting and leaving the lot. She hears the valves in the bus' diesel clacking as the engine's rpms increase and it pulls out of the lot leaving her again in silence.

"dss!"

Startled, she turns to face toward the direction of my voice.

I move to her side, take her arm and instruct her to accompany me.

Stumbling in her heels, we move the open rear of my SUV. I strip the trench coat from her body, sweep her up in both arms and throw her into the back of the truck onto a goose down comforter. "On your knees slut.-head down-ass up dss." I spread the cheeks of her ass, smear a generous amount of ben gay onto a hard rubber plug and unflinchingly force the plug into her ass until her sphincter closes around the base. She moans. I throw a second comforter over her, extend the privacy cover over her, close the back and leave her in the dark. I pop the locks and head north for a three hour drive to my dungeon in the mountains bordering the Green Mountain National Park.

Breath Play and dss

A big thing for dss has always been eyes, so when I thrust her against the wall and wrapped my right hand around her throat, I could read her eyes right away. She was taking pleasure, not giving it. And I loved her for knowing that that was what she needed.

Her face didn't give any emotion away; if I didn't know her so well, it would have been easy to believe that she wasn't even turned on by what I was doing. The feeling of not being able to take a breath is different from the feeling of not getting air when you do. It leaves your body feeling empty, void not just of air, but of ability. It leaves you feeling like a shell, merely the casing of what you once were. Human, alive. It is such a perfect feeling for my slut.

Her hands fluttered when she felt she could go on no longer without air, when the world in the corners of her eyes became first blurry, then black- her ability to see, her sense of sight, slowly disappearing, slipping into nothingness. There is no better feeling than completely giving yourself over to a degree such that someone else controls even your senses.

I didn't let go right away. I held fast, staring into her eyes as she struggled to make sound and found (though I had already known) that she could not. Her tongue tried to form words, but with a lack of air, her vocal chords were of no help. Her arms quivered and her body began to shake. I knew that she had orgasmed.

When I let her go, she collapsed into me. Ruffling her hair, I smiled and held her close. "Was that what you needed?" I hadn't asked her for anything, simply took it and yet she had known. She knew that I knew, too. It all happened much faster than she could ever express.

After sometime, we found ourselves wandering the city, I took her to a secluded part of the subway platform, behind the a stairwell where no one could see us and we could hear people coming.

This time, I pressed my entire body against her. She shuddered, knowing full well what my intentions were. I traced my fingers around her neck and asked her if she was scared. It's hard to explain how she feel in these situations. She is frightened, scared out of her mind. But then, it is what she wants: to be scared, to be hurt, to be used.

She only ever meet my eyes when my hand is around her throat. I never instructed her to do so. In these situations, she feels less than me, less than human. I grabbed the front of her neck between thumb and the side of my forefinger and pressed. This was new. It was new and wonderful. In some ways, it was less controlling than usual, but in other ways, it showed how little power I had to exert to put her in her place. It was godly, and it made her shake. She cried out softly when I did so. "Good," I spoke, expressionless as always, "my fuckslut should be always afraid." She can never stop her eyes pleading for pleading for me to let go. My eyes respond with mirth.

The only reason I let her go was a man come around the stairs to await the train. I held her arms against the wall above her head and leaned forward, softly kissing her. It was a show for the man -- the strength in my hands never let her forget what was really going on. I put one hand under her chin, my fingers behind her jaw. I applied more and more pressure, forcing her jaw to jut forward, and stare into my eyes. She knew the threat that was there. The man got on the train and disappeared, looking, somewhat strangely, back at us. Her pleasurable hell resumed again.

I thrust my hips hard into her-- so hard I could feel it in my bones. I told her I was going to use her. She begged. I told her that all I wanted her for was to abuse her for my pleasure. I could see it this time. Her face flickered with feeling for a moment, and her eyes widened. "Oh, I could cum from torturing you." I took her hand and led her to the next train.

B Responds to dss

dss,

No doubt you do enjoy giving head and probably are quite proficient at it as well. After all, you are in control and most men can easily be manipulated by lips and a warm mouth engulfing their cock. Does your husband fit that characterization?

In the alternative, sodomizing your mouth is a totally different experience. The control is gone. The eyes and mascara run, the sinuses drain and the true mouth whore struggles to catch her breath and fights the gag reflex. It is a high for the top-your involuntary whimpering, the moan (music to my ears) and your throat constricting around the cock is definitely an enhancement. Add to that the ignoring of pleading and begging (another high-in fact the more you suffer the more you beg) feeds the sexual sadist in me. Heaving is a plus-especially before I climax. The humiliation of it combined with the verbal critiquing of you inability to give a blow job even a $20 whore can accomplish pushes your further down the path. It's call skull fucking. Have you mastered this ability since then?

The attorney reference is with respect to the seemingly endless questions we ask. The detailed answers we seek. I have lots of questions and will pose them as long as you respond. I hope you will continue. I enjoy your emails as well.

I will post your response but not include your email address. I prefer to keep as much attention as you can provide all mine.

B

Q & A with dss

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

dss responds to a question

Someone posted a comment about what dss disliked most about her meeting. Here is her response.

I tried answering one of the questions on the blog, but apparently it didn't work, so I will do so here. It's easy to answer what I didn't like the most. It brought me to tears and had me gagging and spitting up. While bound in the chair, Jeff used a rubber dildo to force deep throat me. I begged him to stop, but only did after I pleaded with him to do just one more.

Denouement

On the way home from the airport, I was told to stop at the po box. There was a registered letter there for me. It was from Kevin. Opening it I found seven one hundred dollar bills. The day was a waste for me. My nerves kept me from being able to do much.

At this point I was questioning everything I was doing. For some strange reason I felt I was going to be killed. So much so, I left all types of evidence laying around the house before I left.

I was told not to bring a purse or my cell phone. I was to call my family just before I left and tell them I was going to a movie and I would check in with them in the morning. Kevin had said I need not worry about a thing and I had to trust him on this.

A driver picked me up at 7 and took me to the side entrance of the Goodwyn Hotel in Hartford. I was to meet them at the America's bar in the hotel. Walking in the three of them greeted me. I kissed Kevin and Jeff on the check and I was introduced to Paul. Taking my coat from me Kevin gave it to the host, telling her to have it put in his room.

They told me a looked great. The dress was a scoop neck A line dress that buttoned down the front. It had a floral pattern to it that covered up the sheerness of it. If you looked hard enough or the light was just right, you could see through it. I was aware that they were looking at my breasts. The shoes were very nice heeled sandals.

Paul was a very average looking man. I was told he was a NYC cop. As it turned out he was also a rope bondage specialist. Japanese rope bondage, which at the time I didn't know anything about. He didn't say much.

Kevin said we were going to have diner. He asked if I received my letter and I told him I did. Several times during the night I was asked if I was there on my own free will. Often it was in front of others that were not part of the four of us. I clearly understood what that was all about.

Once we got to the table, several times they had me get up and walk in. They said I needed to walk with more confidence. It was clear the wanted others to witness me doing things they ask of me. I was aware my tits bounced was I walked and I am sure that was part of it. Dinner, mine was lite. Two glasses of wine help with my nerves.

Conversation was just like any other dinner I have had with other couples. At the end of dinner, an awkward moment happened. The asked the waiter if he would like to see my tits. Looking at me Kevin asked me if I wanted to show him. Hesitating I said yes, but the waiter who was very good, declined the offer. With that Kevin said it was time to get going.

He had rented a suite. It was nice with a living area and a separate bedroom.

They walked in and sat on the couch and chairs. I was told to remain standing. I am not sure how I was able to. My knees were shaking like mad. Kevin sensed my anxiety and walked up behind me. Standing very close to me he started talking to me so only I could hear him. He basically reassured me and told me everything was going to be alright. He then said it was time to begin and had me close my eyes.

He started by rubbing his hands up and down my body. My sides, my thighs, my breasts, my ass. I felt my body begin to react to his touches. He hands then went to my buttons and he started to undo them. With my eyes still closed I leaned back onto his chest. I was now exposed to them. Kevin pulled the dress off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He had me step out of it.

He started to cup my breasts and pinch my nipples. It was like it was a direct on line switch to my pussy. While I was sure he knew it, having been through this before, I knew I was not going to be hiding this from him. He had my clasp my hands behind my head. He slide a hand to my panty covered pussy and felt how wet the cotton had become.

No longer talking to me, he announced to Jeff and Paul then he knew I would be this way. By eyes were now open and I could see them smiling and looking at me. Kevin the produced a knife from his pocket and cut the panties from me. He toss them to the others. Walking away from me, I stood there with my hands behind my head completely nude.

Kevin was gone but a second and when he returned he said we were going to play a game of hide and seek. He put a leather hood over my head and secured it in the back. I had never wore a hood before. There was panic and the overwhelming smell of leather. His words shocked me back to what was happening. I will never forget them. "Can you guys smell this whores cunt?" Those were significant words to me. He knew what they meant to me. They were like trigger words I had told him about in our correspondence. He knew the effect it would have to call a "whore" and referred to as a "cunt". They made me feel dirty, objectified.

Kevin back away from me and told me to get on my hands and knees. They then told me I had fifteen minutes to sniff out my smelly cunt soaked panties. They seemed to enjoy my frustrations as I crawled around the room bumping into things in my effort to find the panties. In the end I was told I lost the game.

It was now Paul's turn with me. Standing again, he had me put my arms behind my back parallel to my waist. I felt the ruff rope binding me. While it was comfortable, I knew it was secure. My arms were secured to my sides and my breasts were also incorporated into the tie. I was to remain bound in some form for the rest of the night.

Once he was done with my arms he started on my breasts. Using a smaller rope or cord he wrapped around each breast. His touch was rough and swift. He had to have done this many times before. In the end my tits felt so tight. Almost like they were going to pop. It was a very un natural feeling.

He then put me to the floor and with equal speed my legs were bound. My legs were bent at the knee so my feet touched my ass. The same rough feeling rope was used to secure my ankles to my upper thighs. I was then picked up and put on a chair. Because my arms were behind my back, they forced my hips foreword in the chair. My feet still rested on the seat, but my crotch was right at the edge of the chair as I was leaning back into the chair.

I wasn't expecting the first hit. It was a sharp snap to my bound tit. I screamed at that first smack. I think my voice shocked us all. I felt I needed to be quite so what we were doing wouldn't be discovered. I was told this was my punishment for losing the game. Endorphins were soon running. At the end of this the hood was removed and I was able to see how they had bound me and I got to look at the welts and bruises on my tits.

It was then that I was told we were going to move on and I would now find out about another skill of Paul's. The cord binding my tits was removed. I watched was the took their natural shape and color. Metal clamps were attached to my now normal looking nipples. They didn't have the pinch of the weighted clamps had put on me in the boat, but they were secure. Next a metal plug was slid into my drenched pussy. Leads were attached it and to the clamps on my nipples.

I was told I was going to be interrogated and judging on my sincerity of my answers I would be rewarded or made to tell the truth. The questions were wide ranging. It was clear all of my correspondence had been turned over to Paul. My reluctance to answer questions about my family were met with the most intense shocks. I was made to answer questions about my kids, about my husband, about secret moments between my husband and I. I was forced to tell them honest truths about how he often doesn't satisfy me during sex. How I use fantasy while we make love so I can come. They went into my sexual past. About my lovers, about my adolescent bondage play. They explored my sexual fantasies and the type of masturbation technics I use. I felt ashamed to some of my answers. Telling them about my fantasies of being humiliated to the point of degradation and admitting I enjoyed the bondage and pain were the greatest.

Shocks of pain followed every answer. Sometimes it was just my nipples, other times just my cunt. On answers they didn't like the most resulted in shocks in both areas. Sometime during this something very special happen. It was like everything went into slow motion. The pain was something that I no longer feared. It was like after the shock of pain, I would ride the wave of the sensation as it left my body. Everything changed. My voice answered the questions with a calmness. I could see, but I saw nothing. It no longer mattered that admitted I wanted them to be doing this to me, that I wanted to lick their ass holes or ask them to pee on me, that my husband was a sissy to me. I was someplace I have never been before or since. They ended the interrogation by using a vibrator on my clit. They brought me to several orgasms. Cuming for the was just as embarrassing for me as was answering their questions. It made me feel or admit to myself I was all these things they had me say I was.

The rest of the evening was spent in bondage and being caned, whipped, and clamped. No part of my body was spared including the soles of my feet. They all had sex with me in some form or another. I did give the rim jobs. I was fucked with dildos and cocks. Come was left on my face, tits, and bush.

I was walked to the bath tub and I lay in it. Both Jeff and Paul peed on me. Kevin came in after they were done. He ran a bath for bubble bath for me and bathed me. I broke down and cried. I cried from the shame of what I did. I cried because I liked some of the things they did to me. Kevin was very good at helping me through this period. He dressed me...put my dress and shoes on. He call for the his driver and he walked me down through the lobby and to the car. He got in the back with me and got me home and into bed, before he left me.

dss

More from dss

I received a second email from dss. It is posted below. With her permission, I posted an edited email from dss previously.

The edits were to obfuscate her true identity. At her request, I am reposting unedited versions. Enjoy. More to come.

The Making of a Whore

B,

Back on my own boat I sat and cried. What had just happen, what had I just done? The question that was bothering me the most was what had I just found out about myself. My ass was sore and bruised and for the next several days it would remind me of what I did do. Some how I was able to pull it together and get thought the rest of the day without letting my family know anything.

Of course my husband had invited Kevin and Jeff over for cocktails and snacks like we had done the two days before. It was clear Kevin had told Jeff about what had happen. I had a hard time looking both of them in the eyes. I felt so guilty. Before leaving Kevin found a moment to ask to me to make time to come see him and Jeff the next afternoon. Kevin now had no reservations about grabbing my breasts or patting my ass.

That night I remember giving my husband a blow job. It was done more out of guilt than love. I also convinced him we should leave the next day and we did.

That was how I spent the 4th of July that year. My ass stayed sore for the better part of a week. It was a reminder of what had happen. In many ways I was running emotionally away from that experience. It wasn't until the first week in August when the phone rang when all this came crashing back. Picking up our home phone one morning, I heard Kevin's voice on the other end. My husband had given them our number.

Over the next seven months through phone calls and emails Kevin got me to open up to him about my sexual feelings, fantasies, and desires. He got me to understand that the feeling I had and how I reacted to what happen were very normal and not some deranged persons feelings. He had me open up a PO box and little gifts, including copies of the magazine I had seen, would arrive. To this day my husband does not know any of this. In fact for him, Kevin and Jeff were never heard from again.

I knew they both worked in the city as bankers or hedge fund people. At the time I didn't realize it but the only way I would contact him was by email. Yet he knew my phone number as well as where I lived. Kevin also had a way of getting information out of me and then using it to his advantage. I have relived this so many times in my head over the years. And I realize how good he was at this game we play.

One of the things that I had given up over the months was what I thought at the time was an innocent statement about being a prosecute. It was a statement about separating love and sex and that I thought money made it easier. It was the whole men find it easier to separate sex and love than women do argument.

I also had told him that every year during February break my husband would take the kids to see his parents in Florida. Well now things come around to bite me. One morning I get a call from Kevin. He tells me he has a proposition for me. He will give me $500 to come to New York to see him and he would make all the travel arrangements. Joking around with him I said no and he comes back with how much would it take. And I blurt out 700. Deal he says. Now I am like, are you serious, he was. I protest, I can't come to New York, fine we will come to you. That is how the following events happen on a Saturday night in the week of February.

In the two weeks leading up to the date money arrives in the PO box. I am to buy a dress, shoes, and new panties. The dress was to have a button down front and be a fine quality. The shoes were to be comfortable heels. The panties french cut black. That was all I was to wear, except an outer coat. No jewelry, including my wedding ring.

That morning I dropped my family at the airport and drove home. I was in some zombie zone. Most recently I saw a TV program called "Locked up abroad" where they reenact people getting arrested and thrown in jail in other countries. A large part of the program is spent on the day of the incident and how the people talk about how they didn't really think this was happening. As I watched the show, I was shocked into recalling that Saturday and how I felt all during it.

This is getting way too long. While it feels good to write it all down and over the years I have come to grips with this, it is too late and I don't need to be rising any suspicions from my husband. Plus I am tired and don't even think I will proof read this and just let it be the stream of conscientious that it was.

dss

As a teaser as I think they call it...I also find out there will be a third man there that night.

The Making of a Masochist

I recently received this from dss-more to follow.

B,

It's time to tell you a little about myself. Not necessarily what I am seeking, but how I got to where I am today.

I always knew I liked to get tied up. At a young age, I must have been in 5th grade, my next door neighbor (he was an older boy in maybe 7th or 8th grade) and I use to take turns tying each other up. Him being older always seem to do a better job than I. I loved the feeling of struggling to get out. I loved the feeling of just laying there letting him put the ropes around me. This was our little secret and few know of it. Even my husband doesn't know the roots of my passion. In fact, much of what I will tell you today my husband doesn't know about.

We moved away in the summer of my rising to the 7th grade and my bondage games ended. My interest in it did not. Having no outlet and not really knowing anything about BDSM things moved inside me. By the time I found out about masturbation and fantasy things were in place that would carry me through college and well into adulthood.

It was easy being submissive with my lovers, but not submissive as we both know it. Over the years some of them would tie my hands or spank me, but again nothing like we know how it can be done. [side note: I married a man that likes to be submissive to females]

Fast foreword to a family sailing trip in the summer of '98. We used to own a sailboat and we were in the process of sailing around Long Island when we developed engine problems. We had to put in at Port Jefferson for repairs. It was a holiday and the boatyard's mechanics were off so we stuck there for several days. During that time we were befriended by two guys on another boat and they helped my husband make repairs. Kevin and Jeff, I will never forget them.

Now as then, I go braless as much as I wear a bra. Being on the boat usually meant tank top and shorts. Anyway I caught Kevin looking down my top. He didn't try to hide the fact that I caught him and I quietly moved my eyes from his. Some may call this a "defining moment." There was a subtle attention going on from him. It wasn't flirting on either of our parts, just a knowing. The two of them were moored close to us and as I say my husband befriended them so they were always around.

As it turned out Kevin ended up giving me a ride back to my boat as my family stayed ashore. I wanted to go back to nap and they wanted to spend time in town. So Kevin was heading back to his boat and offered to give me lift. Having not yet seen his boat he asked if a wanted to check it out or have a gin and tonic. I said sure.

During the tour of his boat I noticed a magazine called "something guardian". It was more a "rag" but it turned out to be a well written S&M mag. He picked up on me noticing it. And asked if I was interested in it. I still remember him asking me if I liked to get tied up during sex. It was like a lifetime of fantasy and masturbation filled my head and my pussy. My panties were drenched. He read it in my face. And the question for me by saying "you do!".

It was the first time since those early days that I let a man tie me up, without asking him to do it. The bondage was as simple as it gets. Just my hands were tied to the hand rails in the ceiling of the cabin. My hips were braced against a folded down center line table. I was basically standing straight up, but then slightly bent at the waist (I was reaching across to the other side of the cabin).

Once tied, he put his hand in my pants and found out what I already knew. He brought his fingers to his nose and smelled my scent for the first time. He then went to my tits, cupping and pinching. he pulled up my pulled it over my head, but not my arms so it rested on my shoulders. He produced weighted nipple clamps and attached them. Once on, the movement of the boat made them produce random tugs and pulls. Not knowing at the time what it was called, I was clearly in sub space. My shorts and panties were removed. Since that time I don't think I have ever dripped down my thighs as I was that day. He told me he was going to spank me and asked if that was OK. Starting with his hand, he moved to a leather paddle. Through a mixture of spanks, touches, and words I came for the first time from the direct result of pain.

I never thought it was possible. I felt my body reacting in ways I didn't know it was capable of. After I came twice, he put on a condom and fucked me from behind. I came again from his fucking. After he came, he untied my hands and had my lay down on the bench seats. He removed the clamps from and nipple and I cried out. I went to rub my nipples but he stopped me. Removing his condom, he emptied in on my sore nipples. I was then permitted to rub them.

I was a mess. Not only did I just cheat on my husband, but in a very dirty way.... the story will continue.

dss

EL Continued

Her laugher was both from relief that he had not done what she had feared, and from glee that he had recalled her depillation fantasy told to him six years ago! She was absolutely certain that her initial mistrust and subsequent laughter had hurt, insulted and angered him.

He lit another cigarette from across the room. His breath sounds were distant, but she smelled smoke. She knew his breath noises, his urgent panting when he held her head and thrust himself into her mouth, his deep sighs before he struck her bottom, his moans when she straddled him..This breathing was calculating. She shuddered.

Having 7 to 10 minutes before the cigarette was through, she relaxed a bit. She felt terribly vulnerable and alone in the dark..abandoned. He wouldn't...or would he...leave her here..no he woundn't no matter how mad he got.

"I love him" she thought to herself, but could never say it. They had both married the wrong people and had found each other tragically late. The L word was off limits. The both knew it.

He moved closer. Breathed in her ear. Kissed her hard and deep and wet, his tongue plunging into her mouth with ferocity. "Oh shit", she thought, "I've really pissed him off!" and he bit her lower lip. She inhaled to explain, to apologize to tell him (almost ) that she L'ed him, but it was too late. All that came out her was a muffled cry. "ut ah sorrr!"

He pinched her nipples to make them erect. In the dark she could not see what he was putting on them, but the sting was nearly unbearable. She hollered under the gag, but to no avail.

More from EL

A post doc research fellowship with HIM! What could be more exciting? Cutting edge research on sexual predators, two books, a big research grant and he still had all of his hair and a body she had to pretend not to notice. He was driving her to the "lab" for the semester. The lab, as he called it, was an antebellum estate, a former plantation, in the deep south. Some of the out buildings had been renovated into laboratories, but much of the it had been preserved in its historical splendor and dark past.

The doc had been involved in the now infamous obedience studies which resulted in the ethical standards for treatment of human subjects. She admired his courage in that particular experiment. Nobody actually received a lethal shock, and those who thought that they were administering it deserved all the guilt that they felt. She wondered what was his role in that experiment.

She was surprised that he drove a little beemer convertible. She hadn't packed much. They rode with the top down and loud rock music playing leaving her little opportunity to inquire about the semester's project. She resigned herself to to be cool and not to fawn over him as the the other post docs did. Sure, she worshiped him, but he was never going to know it. She sat back and felt the wind in her hair and on her face, the steamy musky smell of the southern air and enjoyed the ride....

They arrived at dusk up a long horseshoe gravel drive. A stately mansion with tree trunk pillars governed the scene. The lawn was pristine with formal plantings of native perennials in the center. To one side a swimming pool had been added. Had she packed her suit? She thought so. It would be good to find some respite from the thick Louisiana air.

She declined help with her bags and was shown by a manservant to her room, a modest anteroom off the library on the main level with French doors opening toward the pool. There wold be a communal dinner in an hour. She had time for a dip and a quick shower before then.

As she gazed though the French doors it became apparent that her frantic search for a swimsuit was unnecessary. There were several swimmers of both genders enjoying the pool au natural. Shyly, with a towel she ventured out and plunged into the icy water.

I received the following...I'm looking forward to more

I received the following email from a woman I'll just call El. I am so looking forward to receiving more!


He asked her to meet him for pizza in a dimly lit little resturant with greasy windows,murals of Napolian and red leathette booths. She slid in next to him wearing a full skirt and peasant blouse as he had instructed her.

He smiled hello. She took his had and broought it to her face, inhaling the tobacco smell and grazing his fingertips with her tongue. He ordered for them, gathering her skirt in his hand under the table as the waiter took his order. Anchovies yes. Are the mushrooms fresh? No, then. The skirt above her knee. Fresh mozzarella, si. Clams. Garlic. Onions...and a half carafe of dry red. As the waiter departed his hand slid under the skirt,confirming that she had complied with his instuctionsto wear no underwear. He smiled and withdrew his hand.She fluffed her skirt back to it's proper place feeling an unfailiar circulation of air around her exposed private parts. She slipped her foot out of her sandal and entwined her leg around his. She was starving, but not very hungry.

Was it perhaps Sally's or Peppe's...she wasn't paying attention to where she was or even the food. It had been eons since she felt the heat of a pizza oven. Hers was was stoked with possiblity. They had all night...She watched him eat, such an oral man he was! Watching his lusty munching inspired her nether orifice. He savored; she salivated. He chewed; her lips swelled. She inhaled deeply the smell of warm, salty, musky fresh clams. It had grown dark while they were eating. The cool night air carried a warmer moisture. It suggested an ocean nearby ( I guess it was New Haven) He led her to his car with gentle pressure on the small of her back. He lit a cigarette. With his free hand he traced her face in the darkness. She let him feel the broad smile on her face before she opened her mouth and welcomed his finger with her tongue. She inhaled deeply, brushing his forearm with her breasts as she pulled his finger deeper into her mouth. Her knees parted invitingly. He took another drag on his smoke and giggled.. "Not yet."


He parked on the street in a dodgyy part of a town she did not know. He turned and kissed her, pressing her head and torso against the seat of his classic beamer. His massive hands cupped her head. She slackened her neck and yielded completely to his kiss, Her breathing quickened and became audible.His hand probed beneath her skirt, assessing his impact. Apparently pleased with her level of arousal, he retreated to his side of the car, lit a cigarette and exited. She whimpered quietly as he retrieved a satchel from the trunk and came around to her door and opened it for her,whistling. They walked, weaving between patrons of seedy bars overflowing on to the street. They were older and better dressed than the revelers. She was not feeling safe and was about to tell him so when he stopped in front of an unlit shop and withdrew a set of keys from his pocket. He ushered her in without turning on the lights. He relocked and bolted the door. Barry opened his satchel and withdrew a length of black cotton with which he blindfolded her. She wished that she had been more attentive as they entered this place. It smelled smoky, slightly medicinal, and musty. The floor beneath her feet was wood, a tad uneven suggesting an old building. He turning on the lights. She heard the metallic switch and a fan overhead began to circulate the stale air. He removed her peasant blouse and left her standing beneath the fan wearing only a skirt. "Barry?" "Where did you go?" "Where are we?" "Shhhhh" Sound of running water. Sound of metal on glass. Rhythmic squeaking. Faint sound of music from nearby bars. Sound of Velcro?? Barry bustling in the far corner of the room. "What are you doing?"He replied with another "shhh", more demanding this time with no reassurance in his voice.

"Take off the skirt." He demanded matter of factly from across the room. She wiggled out of it and kicked it in the direction of his voice. She heard his footsteps approach her. He circled her, the only sound the creak of his shoes on the floor. She reached out for him, but he eluded her touch. He stroked her hair. She reached for his hand, but he clutched her wrist and secured to the other with velcro straps Her hands drawn tightly behind her back, she felt the need to remind him of her bad shoulder, but when she began to speak he inserted something into her mouth, something hard that kept her jaws parted, but disabled her speech. He lead her to the rear of shop, nearer, she surmised, to where he had been working. He seated her in a smooth leather chair and the noises of his business resumed without her questions.