It is springtime in an ordinary suburb community in Southern California. The custom-built homes have beautiful lawns, landscaping and most have swimming pools. The sprinklers begin to sputter in the lawn of a ranch-style home located in a quiet cul-de-sac. The morning paper lays in the driveway, birds chirp, the neighbors walk their dogs and joggers finish their runs.
Inside, the house is quiet. Down the long hallway steam rises from a shower in the master bathroom. A naked woman emerges, leans forward, and wrings water from her long hair with a towel. She wraps a robe around her body, then heads to the kitchen to brew coffee. As she walks past the king-size bed she notices movement in a long black leather figure. Inside this leather container is her very own naked man, that man is her husband……
I once more wake up and realize I’m still in bondage. My sense of time has long ago lost any point of reference. I’ve tested the possibilities of escape of which there were none. After this necessary ritual, I can completely surrender to my bondage. Because of the sensory deprivation, I’m unaware I am asleep until I am abruptly awake and realize I’m trapped.
This shock oftentimes gives me a rush of claustrophobic panic and a pump of adrenaline. It takes a few minutes of refocusing to calm myself and slow my heartbeat. The only other interruption is the occasional itch, the cramps in my feet and that damn ticklish nose hair.
Bondage is the one thing in my life that never loses it’s a sexual charge. As I anticipate going into bondage my heart beats faster, my breath quickens, my hands go numb and my cock pumps out a steady drool of pre-cum. The first skin-to leather contact, the tightening of the hood, the squeeze of each strap as they are applied.
She always starts at my feet, ends at my neck, and then that final strap to immobilize my head. She purposely tightens it one notch tighter to stretch my neck and push the internal gag into my mouth. She has mastered the application of my bondage by listening to my unconscious moans. She reads my body language perfectly to give it what it wants or deny what it craves.
I’m now in the dream state, no interest in time and the bondage feels perfect. I focus on the smooth leather against my entire body. Every breath is filled with the scent of her sex. With all of my strength, I flex my body within its limits. I trust the straps that immobilize me, I enjoy the sense of freedom only a bondage lover understands.
I begin to float and have a sense of leaving my body. I know I’ve been set free from my bondage again and again. Each time I’m brought back to reality with a jolt. I open my eyes but I can’t see, I can’t move or touch my wanting cock. I settle myself as I understand it was only another dream. I sense she is always close to me so I stay as still as possible as to not disturb her sleep.
After a day of service and play, I am stored for the night in this leather heaven. Some nights my chastity device is removed for a rest. These nights my cock and balls are pulled through a hole in my sleep sack and my balls are strapped in a position for easy access.
Sometimes I’m touched sensually, sometimes I’m not touched at all but sometimes my balls are squeezed and slapped. She has been known to enjoy me with her warm mouth in the wee hours of the morning or she may cover my balls and shaft with tiny clips then drops off to sleep. Most nights I’m kept in my exposed chastity device. A pair of her soiled panties are always placed over my nose.
Suspecting it’s just another dream I’m gently brought back from my twilight sleep. She unbuckles the strap holding my head in position. Then I hear the muffled sounds through my earplugs as the hood laces are loosened. My head emerges from the silent darkness of this head-worn leather time machine.
She removes the earplugs, the strap of the leather gag and gently pulls the duct tape from my eyes. I look around the room trying to get my bearings. I silently think….What time is it? What day is it? She kisses me on each eye as she whispers “Good morning I love you”.
She then unbuckles the straps around the heavy leather sleep-sack starting at the neck. Next, she slowly pulls the zipper down my chest and continues the length of my body ending at my ankles. The cold air rushes in and chills my sweat-slick skin. The smooth warm inside of the sleep-sack has the mixed scent of sex, sweat, and leather.
After decades of use and countless nights of confinement in my vintage double leather sleep-sack and hood conforms to my body like a soft leather glove. It is smooth leather on the inside and out.
There are straps that secure the bag both head and toe to one side of our king-size bed. Being stored this way has become a ritual over time in fact it is how I sleep most weekend nights. I pull my arms from the confining sleeves one by one then I immediately reach for my cock and find it is still locked in the chastity device.
It has been over a year since I’ve seen my cock first hand. Under her control, I have to experience the most powerful orgasms of my life but most of the time I’m cleaned, teased, denied then locked away. I’m always blindfolded or hooded with my arms restrained in some way.
She makes sure we take breaks from time to time to have a “normal” sex life, after all, we are husband and wife, not Mistress and slave. However, for the past year, she has been in the mood to play in these roles. This sounds like an odd distinction but the love we share as husband and wife is the foundation that will outlast any kinky relationship. She is in no way obligated to control me but she chooses to.
She knows I will endure anything and do anything she wants. She also knows bondage is what I want and need more than anything. She chooses to do this with me and do it with all of her might and imagination. Sharing this has become a passion for us both. She has embraced it fully and now she stretches even my limits, in fact she scares the hell out of me.
I love my unpredictable sex life that is controlled by her moods. I can orgasm again and again or be denied for weeks or months I have absolutely no idea what will happen.
I hug her and thank her then head for the shower, I will leave for work soon so I need to come back into my body. Breakfast and coffee a kiss and a pat on my chastity device and I’m in the car heading for freeway traffic.
I enter my office, check my messages and appointment book then sit quietly at my desk pondering my wonderful life.
It’s Monday time to focus on making money and waiting for the weekend.
She came awake with the feeling of a hot breath brushing her earlobe and the hissing sound of a man’s calm voice reciting, “I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. I think I made you up inside my head…Aha, I see Sylvia Plath has done it, you’re awake finally, you may however wish otherwise soon enough…”
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and felt her teeth chatter as she lifted her muscle sore neck upright. Her ear felt that rush of blood and tingling sensation that only comes from extended pressure and she realized her head must have been dropped against her shoulder for some time. She opened her eyes and her eyelashes brushed against fabric: a blindfold. It was then that she pulled hard on her hands and felt the sting of the metal cuffs cut into her flesh. The voice in her ear came again, “I wouldn’t do that dear, you see I don’t have them set on safety, so you’ll just make them tighter, I’m afraid.” She jerked her hand again and the metal bit into her wrist more sharply so that she gasped under her breath. He chuckled and murmured, “Why do they never believe me?”
She shifted her weight against the cool chair and rattled the cuffs to hear that the chair was indeed metal. Her hands were shackled separately to each side at the back legs, she confirmed by reaching out with her fingers and being able to feel her own clothed backside. She shifted her numb legs slightly and could sense that they were free and she rolled her feet inside her heavy boots to awaken them. She moved her head from side to side and shrugged her shoulders to stretch them, trying to remember what had happened, how she had come to be in this position? “Yes, get more comfortable….this is going to take some time.” the voice stated. With a rush of memory, she recalled being at the bar, the music blaring and waiting…what had she been waiting for? It all seemed such a blur.
“Name, age, country of origin.” the voice stated simply. She paused, she didn’t think she was supposed to say, in fact she knew she wasn’t. The voice repeated itself very close to her ear, but this time slower and deeper. The blindfold was jerked from her face, snapping her head slightly to the side, her vision blinded by the sudden bright light. The entire room was out of focus and she realized it wasn’t just from a lack of adjustment to the light, but that in fact the light must be intensely focused upon her. She blinked repeatedly and squinted. The room started to assemble itself into some sort of order. She was sitting about a foot from a metal table. The room was dark beyond the intense round puddle of light in which she was at the position of central tenancy. Behind the table, directly in front of her, was a large black rectangle, a darkened window: a two-way divided view. As her vision became more acute, she saw the image of a man appear as a reflection: tall, short hair, square-jawed and broad-shouldered. He was wearing a severely creased, crisp dark shirt with the tie tucked in at the third button from the throat. He was staring at her and her gaze locked with his. “Name, age, country of origin,” he repeated softly. Her focus shifted to her own reflection, ignoring his voice as though it were not real. She could see herself from the waist up. She was wearing the black dress she’d left the house in with the red neck scarf. Her beret was gone and her hair was mashed to one side. There was a line of mascara streaking the right side of her face, fanning out to her ear. She seemed pale, but that could just be the light. Her eyes snapped back quickly to the man, just as her head was pulled back sharply by the hair and she was instantly staring into the intense blue eyes of the voice. He was there in the room, the sting of her hair twisted in his fist proved that. This was no dream. With a flash of realization, she realized she had been waiting for a man, an unknown man, only the code name, which escaped her now. “Jeg kanne ikke forstaar dig,” she mumbled in a husky, unused voice. He bent down slowly toward her face and carefully stated, “Jeg har ingen lyst til at leger denne med dig. Engelesk, nu!” Her eyes narrowed at the realization that he had understood her and she would not be able to delay with this tactic of being the misunderstanding foreigner.
She drew in a deep breath, held it and then spat in his face. He stared back down at her and let a strand of spittle fall back down onto her face. He released her hair. She watched his reflection as he reached into an upper pocket and pull out a handkerchief and then slowly wipe his face. She could feel the spittle slowly sliding down her cheek. He purposefully walked around her right side, turned slightly and then sharply slapped her face with the back of his hand, jerking her head hard to the left. The searing pain tore through her field of vision and before she could lift her head again, her face was being grasped firmly between his fingers, digging into her flesh. His face was mere inches from her own and he growled, “Do not suppose that the watchers are monitoring for some purpose of maintaining international standards or some propriety for your sex. They watch to learn: they watch for the entertainment of betting on how long you’ll last and they watch to see if there will be anything left over for them. They are the hyenas, waiting for…” he looked pointedly down the front of her dress, “…your entrails. Do not presume that I am anything but the only power here.” The force of his words caused him to splatter her face with his own spittle and she shuddered slightly at the cool, controlled intensity of his voice.
With a barely perceptible tremor through narrowly parted lips, she stated, “I am Jainey. I am 35 years old. I am Canadian.” He continued to hold her face firmly and then pushed it away, as he stood up. “Not so difficult after all. And nothing that I don’t already know,” he said as he slipped a manila folder onto the tabletop to her left. “Now then, now that we’re all friendly. I want to know who you were meeting and for what purpose?” She clenched her jaw and stated, “I don’t know.” He faced the dark window and laughed, “She doesn’t know…well then, let’s go home.” He walked around to her side again and leaned his arms straight against the table, elbows locked. Her nostrils flared and she raised her booted foot high to kick hard against the edge of the table, but he had been holding onto it and instead, he absorbed the impact and slid the table forward so that the edge pressed against her torso, just below her breasts. He pushed her head down with a flat, wide palm and pressed her cheek into the cool metal of the table. “Tsk, tsk…disappointingly predictable,” he remarked with amusement. “Who and why?” he repeated, grinding her cheek against the table before abruptly standing up.
He started to move around the room, outside of the light, into the darkness. She thought she heard the distinctive song of chain links. Sound didn’t seem to travel according to the laws of science in this room. It was as though he was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. One moment she couldn’t even see his reflection in the glass, but then he was there, right next to her ear. “What have you to say?” he questioned, as though he were making idle conversation on the bus. “Turkey dinner,” she replied. “Turkey dinner?” he responded puzzled and then he started to laugh. He leaned in and purred in her ear, “Oh, you may be amusing after all. No dear, no last supper for you, we don’t like the vomit here.” Then he bit her ear, making her cry out. In what seemed a flash of movement, she found herself suddenly tipped forward on the chair and leaning over the table at a forty-five-degree angle, perched on the balls of her booted feet. She was tipped just far enough forward that she remained upright but had to tense her thighs hard to remain in position. She could feel a strap being placed around her upper calf and then heard a chain sliding across and under the chair seat to her other calf. He pulled tautly upon the chain, forcing her leg outward, around the edge of the chair then pulled the chain across to attach to the strap around her other calf. He held her torso against the table with the weight of his body pressing against the chair and clicked his tongue. She could feel the pressure pulling against her cuffed wrists and then suddenly, one of her hands was freed from the chair and quickly brought up and outward, to be latched by the other end of the metal cuff to what she only now noticed was a closed hook on the outside corner of the table. He repeated this maneuver effortlessly with her other hand, as she was entirely trapped beneath him and the chair, such that each intake of breath further crushed her into the table. He lifted her up by the chair to deposit her hips and torso onto the table and then deftly pulled the chair out from the chain, leaving her bound to the table, feet on the floor with a chain between them. She attempted to bring her feet together but they were stopped and she recognized that the straps must have already been attached to the table. “Who and why?” he repeated calmly.
He slapped a thick leather baton against the table, “Perhaps this will help your memory, hmmmm?” She jumped involuntarily. The first strike caught her across the crease of her thighs and legs, just where her pulled skirt stopped. She gasped and closed her eyes. The next volley of strikes came in syncopated rhythm with his voice barking out, “who? why? who? why? Who? Why? Who? Why? WHO? WHY? WHO? WHY?” as each strike escalated by intensity and fervor. Each impact thrust her forward onto the table and she was on the tips of her boots, her chin close to the far edge looking out into the darkness of the glass to determine if there were any discernable shadows there, when she recognized that the screaming voice in the background was her own. She looked up at his reflection and could see his jaw clenching, lips pulled tight across his face, nostrils flared, eyes intent, as his arm raised higher with each successive stroke. He stepped back from the table and dropped the baton. He tipped back a drink from a bottle of water and raised an eyebrow at her reflected stare. He walked around the front of the table and lifted her head back by the hair and poured the cold water over her face. The water splashed down over her face briefly catching her breath before flowing onto the tabletop. She sputtered and coughed, then opened her eyes and shook her head. She glared at his reflection briefly and then with false bravado, lapped the puddles from the table. He watched with an amused look and then walked back around the table and bent over, effectively disappearing from her view.
She felt him unlacing her boots. He removed each boot carefully and set them aside as a pair. He affixed leather straps to each of her ankles. Slowly, he lifted one ankle up, exposing the bottom of her foot, and clipped it in that position to the chain held taut by her calf. He slid his hands up her inner thighs and across her ass and over her torso until he was lying atop of her. His face was cradled next to her ear and she watched as he cajoled, “You know….you know….just tell me and this doesn’t have to continue. It could be done. You’re just confirming what I already know. Don’t be a martyr.” She shivered and shook her head, closing her eyes when the tears started to sting. He moved back down to her other ankle and lifted her foot upwards, clipping it too into the chain. She began to sob quietly with anticipation. A cane whipped through the air with speed and accuracy and landed on the sole of her left foot. She arched upwards off the table and yanked hard on her right wrist, such that the handcuff tightened sharply, digging deeper into the flesh. He mouthed the word “Who?” in the direction of the reflection and she saw stars radiate around his head, as though they were coming directly out of his mouth and floating into the air. The second lash landed off-center onto her right sole and stars filled her field of vision. The cane landed across the same foot shortly thereafter and she gargled for air, her eyes losing all sight. The final cane stroke caught the tip of her left baby toe and her vision returned with psychedelic effect, swirling through the sound of her own blubbering sobs. She squirmed with little effect against the restraints and coughed and sputtered to breathe. From the corner of her eye, she saw his arm snaking away from his waist and the glint of shiny metal. He bent his belt in half and began to strap her back, shoulders and buttocks. It lashed out over her torso and stung her arms. It moved so quickly and so randomly, that she couldn’t prepare for each successive hit. Her brain could no longer register exactly where each pain message was coming from.
She leaned her head forward onto the tabletop and closed her eyes to escape. But there was to be no escape. He slipped the belt around her neck and tightened it back so that it lifted her head up and back forcing her to see the reflection of the glass. When their eyes met, he lifted her skirt and fucked directly into her ass in one quick, unyielding penetration. He fucked into her with steady and purposeful strokes, grunting out, “Tell me who the mole is….” She shook her head slightly in the negative and he pulled back harder on the belt, causing her vision to close in slightly with darkness. He thrust more aggressively and barked out, “Tell me who the fucking mole is!” She opened and closed her mouth, as though a guppy fighting for air and he relinquished tension on the belt slightly. She looked at him and she saw him faintly nod in affirmation and so she screamed with release “YOU! You’re the fucking mole!” She looked up at the glass and repeated, “He is the fucking mole!” He closed his eyes and shuddered in orgasm and then opened his eyes with a glint. He released the belt and lay across her body. He knotted his hand in her hair and whispered lovingly into her ear, “Good job baby, they’ll never believe it was me now…”