by Fulani
‘Don’t worry, it’s clean. The cameraman normally uses it for some of his kit!’
There was a drawstring on it, which Leo adjusted so it fitted her neck loosely. Ruth’s eyes adjusted enough that she could see through the thin fabric. But not for long. She heard the characteristic ripping sound of duct tape being pulled off the reel, and her vision was blocked as a long strip of it was wound around the outside of the hood.
‘Yeah, I know,’ Leo’s voice continued calmly. ‘I tried it myself, I know it’s transparent. Hence the tape. But on the other hand, I’ve only covered your eyes because I don’t want you fainting from lack of oxygen. And here’s your let-out: if you’re struggling with anything, just drop this.’ Her fingers closed around something like a door key she could hold comfortably in her fist. It wouldn’t be visible to the camera, but would be noticeable if she dropped it.
After that, things went blurry. Hands, two pairs of them, gripped her arms and took her from the small back room they’d used as a dressing room, and marched her to … Well, to somewhere. She couldn’t see, of course. It was only cool metal against her spine that told her she was backed up against one of the dance poles. She was tied to it, standing: her wrists were left tied together rather than re-fixed around the pole, but ropes around her body, above and below her breasts, secured her to it. Her ankles were separated and tied to, as best she could tell, either end of a pole – something Leo had referred to, in the checklist she’d completed, as a spreader bar. Then more rope circled her legs just above the knees, holding them in tension presumably with the other ends tied to the pole. Even if Ruth wanted to slip down the pole, make herself smaller, her knees wouldn’t move far enough to allow it. Experimental wriggling only served to wrinkle her dress, removing the couple of inches of modesty it had provided between the hem and her pussy.
From then on, she felt alone and ignored. Unable to see, she could only listen as the men played with the other women. There were thwaps of floggers against flesh, yelps, periods of relative silence punctuated by sudden squeals of pain, and finally the unmistakeable gasps and moans of sex – which became amplified when she also heard the quiet buzzing she’d come to associate with a Magic Wand.
Meanwhile, even as her muscles started to grow fatigued with holding the position, her exposed pussy felt juiced-up and ultra-sensitive. Her clit even started jumping when it detected the air around her becoming a fraction of a degree warmer, though that was probably just the spotlights.
He must have approached her silently. The first she knew of his presence was a thumb and forefinger pinching her left nipple through the thin material of the dress, hard enough to elicit a squeak of protest through the gag.
Something cold and sharp ran up the inside of Ruth’s thigh. Despite the pressure on her nipple, it captured her complete attention. In two ways: firstly because it felt threatening and demanded her complete stillness, and secondly because the fear it produced in her was utterly sexual and turned her entire pelvic area into a trembling, excited, dribbling mess of goo.
The metal edge ran remorselessly across her thigh, toyed briefly with her labia, and then snicked gently at the hem of her dress.
Of course: Leo had already told her that whatever she wore that day would be cut off her. It hadn’t happened at the garage. It hadn’t happened in the back yard of this place, where it had been carefully stripped from her. But it was happening now she’d put the dress back on again for the shoot. It was being sacrificed for the camera.
The feeling of her clothing being removed, slowly, like the peel of a ripe fruit, was excruciating. In a good way. The sensation of silky strips of material being pulled out from under the tight ropes just set up even more erotic vibrations through her body.
And it all made her completely unprepared for the heavy impact of the flogger on her breasts, hard enough to make them bounce. Hard enough that the smack of suede on skin echoed off the walls, closely followed by the reverberations of Ruth’s scream, muffled by the gag.
The flogger worked over her body systematically: breasts, stomach, the front of her thighs and even her arse, since the metal pole she was tied to did absolutely nothing to protect it from the blows. And with knees and ankles tied wide, she couldn’t flex or move to avoid them.
All she could do was scream, shriek, screech, yelp, and moan. And recognise that her body was responding to the pain with an endorphin hit that was making her high and driving an urgent need to fuck.
He didn’t fuck her. Didn’t produce a Magic Wand. Instead, with measured and rhythmic strokes, he swung the flogger directly against her pussy. The blows were less intense than previously, but each one was a shock that drilled all the way up her body. It drilled a wide-open need for orgasm.
‘Make me come! Please make me come!’
It didn’t sound like that when Ruth yelled it. The gag turned it into something like ‘Ake ee um, eez ake ee um!’ Almost like a magical incantation.
She had no idea whether he’d understood her, but he made her come anyway with the very next stroke. If she’d been able to move, she would have collapsed on the spot.
And only afterwards, when she felt hands untying the ropes and releasing her ankles from the spreader bar, letting her sink to the floor, did she wonder if it had in fact been Leo on the other end of the flogger.
She could have been made to come, not only through the application of pain, but by a complete stranger.
Arms dragged her, unresisting and limp, off the dance pole podium and across the floor. Deposited her there face-down, naked, hands still tied behind her back. Wooden laminate cool against hot breasts and thighs. After a while she felt ropes around the ones already on her wrist, an upward pull that brought her to her knees and then to her feet, stretching her arms out behind her. She just went with the flow, didn’t try to resist. The position stretched her shoulders in an unfamiliar way, but not one she found unduly painful. She did, though, have to exercise willpower to keep her legs underneath her by the time most of her weight was being taken on her toes. Especially since an orgasm had reduced her knees to jelly only a few minutes before.
More ropes, this time around her torso, above and below her breasts, and low around her hips. Many turns of rope, actually, enough to support her weight … Even in the darkness of the hood, and working only on how the ropes felt, she figured it out quickly. This was to be a suspension.
It was, and once it happened it was quick. Her hips were in the air, legs kicking, until ropes on her ankles lifted them, leaving them bent at the knee and hanging at a much higher level than her torso. Then the ropes around her breasts pulled tighter, taking up the strain that had previously been on her arms. Ruth had seen suspensions on the videos of Leo’s work, never previously experienced one – though it was something she’d included in the checklist. It was, she discovered, surprisingly challenging. And active. She had to try to lift and lower her hips, then her chest, in order to settle more gently into the ropes and prevent them biting and pulling at her. She had to control her panicky gasps, work out that while her ribs were working against her own body weight she was in fact able to take regular, slow breaths, the same way she’d done on the one occasion she’d tried her hand at scuba diving. Provided Leo, or whoever it had been, didn’t start flogging her again.
He, or they, didn’t. Ruth was convinced the ropework would have been Leo’s, but deprived of sight, had no idea whether the other men were there or what they were planning to do to her.
What she did feel was the pinch of a clothes peg on her left breast. And another. Then on her right breast. And a line of half a dozen more pegs on her torso, and the front of her thighs. And she was swaying there, three feet or so off the floor, reacting to the pegs mentally but trying to stay very, very still physically because if she moved they’d hurt more.
A gentle push sent her swaying from side to side. It was very easy to lose any sense of direction. She wasn’t exactly floating, because the suspension was far harder work than that an
d required, bizarrely, a high level of concentration just to relax overcome the pain, both of the ropes and the pegs. But neither the loss of spatial awareness, nor, strangely enough, the slow agonies of pegs and ropes were difficult to bear. Even when it felt as though she was also being spun round in a slow circle in one direction, then the other.
And despite her recent orgasm, she was ready for another. The first had been brought about purely through the use of a flogger. And now she wanted cock. Please.
As if by telepathy, hands pushed her knees apart. Leo – she was sure it was him – took advantage of her helplessness and vulnerability. He entered her: she was defenceless and inviting. More than inviting, given moistness that had worked its way over glistening labia, and hips that were flexing in anticipation. She accepted the suffering caused by the movement: compared to her need it was unimportant. He entered her easily, filled her – she could sense his cock pushing against the pressure low in her belly that the ropes had created. It felt amazing.
He didn’t move or thrust: instead, Leo used the ropes to swing her back and forth, used her own weight to slam her forcefully against him. He took her deeply. Hollowed her out.
Ruth was noisy. Inarticulate grunts and moans, followed by higher-pitched muffled wails and yelps of pleasure. Unsurprisingly, given the build-up to the moment and the fact she was multi-orgasmic, she was very quickly at the edge of coming again.
Then right at the edge, at the point of no return when the orgasm was going to happen no matter what, her body was thrown into shock. An abrupt, intense wave of pain lanced through her. It didn’t stop the orgasm: far from it. The endorphin rush, her body’s automatic response, took her instantly into a complete other world. A world of all-consuming sexual pleasure that, in Ruth’s first encounter with Leo, she had quickly become very familiar with. Addicted to, in fact, which was why she’d agreed to be in this place and these ropes …
It took a long while for her to come round. Still in the afterglow of what had felt like an hour-long orgasm, Ruth had felt herself lowered to the floor, ropes removed, a blanket placed over her, the hood not quite removed but lifted enough that the ballgag could be taken from her mouth. She felt her body shake, muscles in thighs, stomach and jaw trembling uncontrollably.
When she finally felt able to face the world again, grasped the material of the hood to pull it off, she found herself in a shadowed corner of the dance floor and looking straight into Leo’s eyes.
‘How are you?’
‘Fine. Thank you. That was … strong. Fantastic, actually.’ Ruth smiled. ‘When do we get to do it again?’ Then a thought crossed her mind. ‘That was you, wasn’t it? Inside me?’
Leo chuckled. ‘Yes, it was. I know you said you’d be OK with any of us fucking you, but it was your first time. And the rest of what we did was pretty intense, so I took an executive decision there.’
Ruth felt relieved, but at the same time the thought crossed her mind that with her own sexual history, her backstory of one-night stands, maybe there was something left for her to explore …?
‘And the pegs? What happened there?’
‘They were strung together, so one swift pull on the ropes and they all came off at once. It’s called a zipper. You did put that in your checklist, you know!’
And she had, though without knowing precisely what it involved. Now she knew. Now she knew she liked it. A lot.
‘By the way … may I have my house key back?’
Ruth looked at the palm of her hand. The key was still there, never used as a safety device. She presented it to him ceremoniously, triumphant that she hadn’t wanted or needed to use it to stop the scene. And with a premonition that one day soon, she might well have her own, similar, key to his house.
The rest of the session felt, if it were possible, even more surreal. Still nude, Ruth helped pack up the ropes. She talked with the other women, also in states of incomplete dress, who were showing each other their stripes – literally – and seemed proud of them. Eventually, everything was packed and everyone ready to leave. Ruth wondered how she’d feel later, alone in her flat, with the memory of the day and the knowledge that it was the day she’d become a porn actress.
‘Umm … You remember you cut my dress to ribbons?’
A smile crossed Leo’s face. A memory or an evil intent, Ruth wasn’t sure which.
‘And of course it’s no longer wearable.’ He stroked his chin. ‘Of course we could always take you back the same way you arrived, tied up in the back of the van …’
But he was teasing. Instead he gave her the shirt off his back, which on Ruth became a shirt-dress falling to mid-thigh. She wore it with a sense of accomplishment, perverse pride even, enjoying the smell of him on the fabric.
She didn’t end up going home alone. In fact, she didn’t end up going home. There was an after party, back at Leo’s place. And later still, there was Leo’s bed. And his rope.
Ruth didn’t stop having one-night stands. Not completely. But they weren’t the most important part of her sex life any more. And she never even saw the video. But that wasn’t important either because she had her memories of the day, the mental and emotional challenge, and her triumph. And she had her addiction to rope, which Leo took great pleasure in satisfying.
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