I felt Sir working at my ankles. Instead of daring to check it out, I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and let a curtain of long, black hair cascade over me.
“Move up,” he said.
I moved up.
I know he fastened my ankle straps to the boards… somehow… but how, I did not see, or want to see. I was afraid I would begin to panic, maybe resist if I saw, gave it reality, and my thoughts were not as frightening as the reality surely would be.
I didn’t look... didn’t look… didn’t look… then all at once curiosity got the better of me. I peeked. Over my shoulder through strands of sheltering hair and squinty eyes, I peeked.
Oh! Bolts! Eye-bolts screwed into the Boards! So that’s how the straps were being secured! Of course. Logical. Entirely logical. The legs that I saw didn’t belong to me so there was no cause for alarm. Silly girl.
Once in place, the green, military-style, cotton straps allowed no movement whatsoever. Yes, I tested them. Ever so gently I tested them. No movement. That was as it should be, because again this was Sir’s device, and Sir didn’t make miscalculations. If he strapped my ankles down they would stay down.
In one swift movement he came to the front of me. He was a blur. The motion was so fast I could hardly make sense of it.
“Lean down,” he breathed, our trance now mutual. His eyes were wide and staring. For all intents and purposes he was away. Far, far away.
Again, though he moved incredibly fast, I moved in slow motion, hesitating as long as I dared. I did not want to disturb the magic, to anger the gods, and the gods—I just knew—wanted me to move very slowly now.
Haltingly I obeyed, leaning on trembling hands with pulsating fingertips.
Another sound: a metal-on-metal clinking. Again, I peeked, watching in morbid fascination as Sir’s fingers twisted the nuts of two bolts higher on their inclined planes. First one nut, then the other. Not all the way off, just partially, allowing the arched, half-circle of metal they secured to the left Board to be raised a few inches. A cuff, my dulled thoughts affirmed. Once loosened, he raised the metal pieces and paused. He was waiting for me to do something. I could see what he wanted—what he expected. He had made room for me to insert my hand into my ‘bracelet’ and I was to do it. I could see that now. I was to lean down on all fours, place my hand in it—into this metal cuff that was designed especially for my thin wrist—and hold it there while Sir tightened the nuts back down. Screwed them down to lock my wrist in place. A shackle. No possibility of escape. This was the device Sir had created especially for me.
I did it. Breath held. Without a word I leaned forward, assumed the doggie position, and placed my left hand into the first waiting metal cuff. I slipped it through the narrow space, watching in wide-eyed horror mingled with ecstasy as Sir slowly re-bolted the custom-made metal bracelet on my wrist. I lowered my head, cascading my hair again, and turned my face away. This could not be happening to me. This was someone else; I was merely an observer. Yes, of course. It was someone else.
This pretense was working so far, but just barely.
It was beginning to dawn on me what was happening. The brick wall had just fallen on me and I was awakening from my stupor. I was being restrained. No possible way of escape. Shouldn’t that fact scare me more? Shouldn’t I be terrified?!
Sir was ready for my other hand now. I slowly volunteered it as the incongruent thoughts jumbled around in my head. He secured it in exactly the same fashion as my left. [These beautiful, but unyielding metal bracelets which I was to wear many times in the future, left their kiss on my outer wrists in the form of little bites that melded into tiny scars, that melded into little dark spots that I still wear today.]
There was nothing I could do, but let my long hair cover my face in sweat-damp tendrils and press my lips together tightly to keep all impending sounds inside. My hair tumbled down and blacked out the room, blacked out everything. I stretched back on my heels as far as my restricted wrists would allow. I wasn’t going anywhere. Was it time to panic now?
Sir stood, squaring his shoulders in great satisfaction. He walked around behind me and then told me to raise my ass. I flexed my rear and arched my back. He stood looking. Looking. Looking. Looking... breathing... looking.
“God, my head is pounding,” he intoned, gutturally. I could hear the heart beat in his voice.
Several impossibly long minutes elapsed before Sir came back to the front of me. He crouched and began to unfasten my wrists. I held my breath, unsure what was going on.
“I’m going to free your hands for a little while.” He worked at the cuffs.
Whew! was all I could think as my pent-up breath slid out.
“Sit back,” he dictated when the cuffs were fully opened. I was much relieved to comply. I felt light, like I had suddenly sprouted wings. It really helped dispel the panic to have my hands free again, even for a minute.
He raised now to stand directly in front of me; tall, straight, his legs and thighs up against my face, hands behind his back. He stood rigid, like an Aztec god, brazen like the blazing sun at its rise.
And as one beholding the sun, I sat, head bowed in submission, breathing shallowly and rapidly—a rabbit snared at his feet.
His next words broke my trance.
“Take off my belt,” he commanded.
Would I defy him now, or stay compliant? In for a penny... in for a pound...? Yeah, that’s a fool’s motto. But I wanted him so badly. Wanted to be his, like O was Sir Stephen’s. Didn’t I? O didn’t defy Sir Stephen.
I paused, heaved a sigh, then reached up—head still bowed—and felt for the buckle. I fumbled with it blindly, my fingers clumsy. Sir stood like a statue, giving no assistance whatsoever.
“Do you know why I wore this belt?” Sir was watching me, I could feel it. I shook my head then mumbled my negative answer. The recalcitrant buckle finally gave and I pulled at the thick, black leather.
“I never wear a belt,” Sir continued. “I’ve been wearing it all day long, as a reminder to myself.”
I tugged in vain at the unyielding strap and bit my lower lip against the words I was hearing.
“When you refused me last Saturday night, when you told me ‘no’ you just about drove me insane, made me want to punish you. I’ve been thinking about it ever since that night ... how I’m going to punish you.”
My heart was racing harder with every word. It was pounding in my throat; my head throbbed impossibly. I finally managed to slide the belt from Sir’s waist. I dragged it off and folded it. With trembling fingers I reverently lay the belt before him on the floor.
“Hand it to me!” he ordered. I snapped to, not looking up, not raising my head, immediately picking the belt up and offering it to him in my upturned palms, like a gift. It was a gift, his gift to me.
Sir took it.
Crack!
I jumped. Sir had snapped the doubled, black leather together hard, and the crack echoed ‘round the cold, empty room.
“I decided to whip you,” he stated, popping the leather again. I shrunk away. Sir paused to let the sentence fully sink in.
Time, time, time trickled like a dripping bucket. My heart pounded against what was coming.
“Should I whip you?” he asked belligerently.
What would O have said? If I answered yes, Sir would surely proceed; if I answered no—a word Sir had for bidden me to say—this would also constitute grounds for punishment. The age-old dilemma; there seemed no way to escape my fate.
So in answer: no answer. Instead I collapsed completely and wrapped my arms around his thighs, hugging my body to him, pressing my face against him in silence, awaiting my doom. Time stood still there at his feet with my wordless pleas.
Then, strangely, Sir released me.
“I think not,” he tossed the belt, along with the words to the floor. I shuddered at the reprieve.
“Untie my boots,” he demanded instead. With renewed fervor, this task I eagerly began. But I couldn’t see how t
hey fastened. I fumbled.
“I’m not very good at this, I’m afraid,” I whimpered my apology.
“Something wrong with it?” Sir spat.
“No, Sir!” I answered quickly. I redoubled my efforts and managed to do it. I immediately started on the other boot. At least I was figuring it out. I quickly unwrapped the lace of the right boot to the point that he must have deemed sufficient because he stopped me.
“Now my pants,” he stated still not offering the slightest assistance. He stood rigidly at attention.
I tugged at the button, then the zipper.
“Pull them down,” he instructed.
“... Now my underwear.”
Having accomplished all that he had ordered, with Sir’s hot, naked body right in my face, I sat back, waiting for permission, like a good little submissive.
“Take me into your mouth,” Sir said, throatily.
At last! Yes! I worked happily at this task. I worked so lovingly and with such pleasure—despite my ankles’ restraint—happy I was at least semi-free, and that the fearsome belt still lay behind me on the floor.
I moved over Sir, feeling him swell; it pleased me so much to feel him respond. I was enjoying it immensely. Suddenly he withdrew and ushered me to resume the ‘all-fours’ position on my knees. Uh oh, I held my breath. I knew exactly what was coming as I felt the terror well.
He stated breathily for me to reinsert my left hand into its former cuff, which he quickly secured without the slightest hesitation. I had curled myself up, my head again resting on the floor, arms outstretched cooperatively, but not watching. It was happening to someone else! It was happening to someone else as long as I did not look! Not observing how he restrained me allowed a modicum of self-composure. If I didn’t actually see it, I was cool.
So for a moment I went into a dream; and from the safety of that dream I was able to watch as the other woman’s left wrist was being confined. But even when Sir was finished with it, the woman still didn’t look up. Nor did she offer the other hand to him this time. Wait, please wait, her thoughts screamed in both our heads. Anything to stall, just one more minute, we hedged. I felt her panic from my safe distance above.
“Put it in!” He boomed.
She looked over at the right cuff and then–again in super slow motion—did as she was ordered.
It was dizzying to observe the metal band tightening, relentless in its confinement, immovable against the delicateness of the woman’s pale hands. How easily our collective minds were becoming caught up in this mellifluous cacophony of sounds: of clinking; of her shallow breathing; of her pounding heart echoing in the empty room. How everything else in the room faded into the background now that I did look down from my safe haven and watch—watch the slow, continuous, steady motion of the metal nuts on their downward spiral. What I formerly could not look at, I now could not look away from. From my vantage point I was hypnotized with the power of this quiet, ongoing, forbidden, un-sanctionable rite; this rite to which the woman was somehow submitting with abandon. How odd; yet how tantalizingly and seductively soothing.
I watched as she tried the bracelets with fruitless little twists and tugs of her hands. The bracelets bit, and I felt the bite; it was a pleasant pain. Of course there would be no escape, so it was good that I could avoid panicking by floating in this dream. Hovering I could hear, interestingly, that each movement of her hands, no matter how small, made a delicate clink, a tiny bell sound, a delightful tinkling that overwhelmingly intrigued me. It was like wind chimes, like the bell sound of a waterfall, like angel voice. It was a blessed sound. She twisted her wrists just to hear that lovely jangle. The noises seemed far away, yet intimately close. I rather liked that ringing tone. It comforted me, oddly, and the glint of the black, hammered metal in the candlelight as it shined and scintillated, rich and inky, was beautiful—unbelievably beautiful; so beautiful it made my eyes go fuzzy as I looked down from on high.
The confinement complete, Sir moved to the woman’s rear. He had his hands on her now, on her hips as he knelt at her ass and worked over her skin, smoothing and caressing, kneading and squeezing, prolonging the delicious moment she was about to enjoy. There was reverence in his touch now. He had the woman right where he wanted her. Helpless, she was his to do with as he willed.
I closed my eyes and held my breath as he slowly positioned his dick at the opening of her ass, the tiny, virgin opening of her tiny, virgin ass. I felt her entire body tense.
No! I must not allow my body to tense! I screamed in my head as I slammed back down to earth. It was me this was happening to. It wasn’t ‘some woman’! It was ME!
He pushed his hard cock against me and at the same time pulled my hips back to him. It was impossible not to stiffen. It was involuntary, a reaction to the stabbing, just like last week. I couldn’t help it. And just like last week, pain screamed in my tense body everywhere, all at once.
Pain! Pain! Incomprehensible, unrelenting, punishing, and terrible pain. The sharp knife blade of Sir’s hard, stiff cock was once again splitting me, and I automatically recoiled like a spring.
The pain was searing, mind numbing, impossible to take.
Sir pulled back. I released my pent up breath in self-disgust.
But Sir wasn’t finished with me yet. He was merely regrouping, lifting the heavy Boards to widen my legs.
“I do have you,” he remarked. Yes, he did. It was seductively obvious that the sacred Boards allowed no movement from me at all.
He approached again; closer this time. Kneeling, he began to part my cheeks for another shot. But the memory of the horrible pain reverberated in my head, and once again, I froze, paralyzed, stiffening. It was just mechanical.
Sir was withdrawing, sitting back, moving around to my mouth again.
“That’s OK, for the first time,” he was saying incredibly, no trace of anger or reproach in his quiet, steady, mesmerizing voice, only patience. Maddening patience.
Patience? He was actually being tolerant of my abominable behavior? Or, was it simply his feelings for me getting in the way? At least I had not told him no. I had promised Sir that I would not do that ever again; swore that I would die first!
He said that had made him smile when I said it. I guess so, special military man that he was; of course such a statement was laughable. I imagined the tortures that his kind had seen, witnessed, and endured—and meted out. It was ludicrous for me to say such a stupid thing. I had absolutely no idea.
At the time I said it I meant it; and temporarily I had even managed it. But he was right: it was a ridiculous statement. He was so incredible, so magnificent. Now this god’s way should be easy. I could make it so. I knew how.
He was guiding himself into my lips. It felt strange to have my hands cuffed so I could not hold him, my lips fumbling helplessly at the head of his dick.
“I want you so much,” Sir murmured. “I want to give you my Life.”
“I know how to do it,” I pulled myself into a supine, head-on-the-floor-position. “I know how it can be done,” I spoke unsummoned. I would wait for sanctioning.
He quietly acknowledged me.
“How?” He asked.
“A doctor,” I began, “a doctor told me.” I stammered breathlessly, reluctant to instruct Sir in this act which filled me with such trepidation, but yet duly compelled, intrigued, excited, and overwhelmed me with heart-pounding desire.
“She said I have to relax,” I began. “You put steady pressure against me and wait to be drawn in automatically.”
I remained face down, my hair veiling me, a shield from Sir’s eyes. Sir was silent. But after a moment he readied himself again to enter my ass. My heart pounded. Would it work, or would I tear like tissue paper under a blade?
Sir was there, positioned behind me and he began to push again, gently, steadily. Only this time Sir placed my knees and the Boards together and spread his legs around me. This brought him closer and confined my body within his. I simply willed my whole body t
o relax. I gave myself completely to him. Little sounds escaped from my throat uncontrollably as my breath came in short shudders, but it was working. I was opening to him. Sir kept up the unrelenting, steady, full force pressure, and he was being pulled into me. Steadily. Painlessly. He was there! All the way in my ass! And it felt heavenly!
Now he was entering my ass in short, firm strokes. The movement went deeper. Deeper. I relaxed totally and, I felt no pain. Only pleasure.
Now he was increasing his strokes. He was swelling, growing, huge, and all the while my mind stayed calm. There was extreme, nearly unbearable pressure, pressure that mounted and caused a buzzing sensation in my brain, pressure that agonizingly tantalized, tugged at my pussy and drove me crazy with pleasure, but pressure that did not constitute pain. The feeling was overwhelming. I was expanding to him even though he was so big, and he was so deep. I was being stimulated everywhere at once—my cunt, my nipples, my ass, my tingling thighs. Suddenly I was cumming—cumming at being fucked in the ass! I growled my pleasure, thoughts crying, Yes! Yes! FUCK me! Fuck me! FUCK ME! as the orgasm blasted through my brain and I convulsed with unending delight. The wails of ecstasy escaping my lips spurred Sir on.
Now he held my hips and moved into me as hard as he pleased. He was groaning a mounting roar. He was rock hard and pounded against me to my indescribable pleasure. With all my strength I stayed up and refused to collapse under his weight or the force of the pounding thrusts. Orgasms rippled through me, wave after wave. All I knew was that I would hold for him as long as my strength allowed. Under his rampaging sex-rage I was like a feather in a hurricane, but GOD it felt sensational.
He fucked me so hard and finally came up me with an explosive bellow. It was religious. I felt his cum pumping into my ass like a blast furnace. It burned my raw insides so fantastically it shot me to a high that words can’t describe. That I was totally helpless in his shackles and open to any and all violations of my body that he wanted to perform exponentially intensified my orgasm. I was his, his submissive, his sex pet, his sex slave, his sex-anything. I was becoming O at last.
Masochism of M: A Sexual Mémoir Page 15