I stepped out and the car swept away. In the crystal air, illuminated by glimmering stars, there was no sign of anyone else. Hesitantly I mounted the stairs and paused at the entrance. Beyond, the pitch black might conceal any kind of danger. ‘Bernard?’ My voice fractured. Screwing my nerve I moved forwards, stiff with tension, nervously poised for flight. After a few steps, completely blind, I halted and called out again.
‘Do not turn round. Take off your coat.’ Transfixed, I stood motionless. ‘Do as you are told!’ The commanding note unlocked my inertia and the garment quickly rustled to the floor. ‘Kick off your shoes.’ One by one they clattered somewhere ahead in the dark and my bare feet rested on icy tiles. I waited breathlessly.
Warm fingers touched the chilled skin of my shoulders and moved down, as if acquainting themselves with the length of my arms. The fingers coaxed my right wrist over the left and my heart thumped as soft leather strapped them together as one, a lengthy process involving elaborate connections, all handled fluently by touch alone. I tried to flex this way or that but changed nothing. A second strap above my elbows drew them unnaturally close and another series of links fastened my arms. Pressure forced my shoulders back and projected my breasts. Floating dangerously, elated at having given away my independence, I croaked, ‘And if I asked you to release me?’
‘It’s far too late.’
‘But I told Elaine …’
‘That’s irrelevant.’
From behind, a cupped palm lifted the bowl of my breast. A second hand came from the opposite side and both caressed the soft pulp, rotating and squeezing. Fingertips teased and stretched my nipples, enlarging and hardening them. I breathed heavily, my tension lifting. ‘What now?’ I muttered, my voice thick. ‘Am I to be raped?’
Bernard’s breath warmed my ear. ‘An indulgent fantasy, unworthy of us both.’
‘I can’t prevent it.’
‘Nor anything else I choose to inflict.’
The right hand deserted my globe and slid gradually down my belly. As it reached the pubic curls I instinctively pulled back, then between my legs fingers pressed into my crotch, stroked my slit, and widened the moistened labia. My back arched. Formed as a wedge, the fingers plunged into my passage and during a deep finger-fuck I writhed and groaned. ‘Does this please you?’ I gasped. Abruptly the treatment stopped and the second hand released my breast. Bewildered, senses reeling, I struggled to understand.
‘You talk too much.’
A blank interval, then something – a cloth band – touched my lips. Twisting from side to side I attempted to avoid the inward pressure, but unremitting persistence separated my jaw. The band dragged hard on the corners of my mouth, and while it was being fastened at the back of my skull I desperately inhaled air through my nose. I had never imagined how much a gag could equal restraint in reducing me to a passive condition. Now, in removing my last shred of autonomy, Bernard had all of the power.
As a tough grip enclosed my arm and urged me forwards I gave a muffled, piteous moan. Hustled along a corridor, my feet thudded on freezing tiles until he pulled me into a room, as black as before. A soft edge pressed my legs and Bernard lowered me onto a bed. Above, his bulky body, sensed but unseen, arranged my limbs comfortably, thighs wide apart, arms protected by deep pillows from the weight of my body. Beside me the bed sagged with the additional load of his weight.
He was going to do it!
For tense moments nothing happened until, just beyond my chin, came the touch of a fat slug settling between my breasts and down my belly, ending on my pubes. A long shaft lay there, cold and inert, wobbling slightly with each breath.
Noiselessly, on the ceiling above, a movie began. A small flame-haired woman danced enticingly in a skimpy costume of gold chains that rustled and chinked. It displayed through gaps her areolae and red pubic bush. She danced for a bearded man, a giant; she scarcely reached his chest. When she paused to kiss him the woman reached on tiptoe while he leaned down.
As a captive audience I gazed distastefully at banal porn. The slug began to slide down my torso, dragged its head across my pubes and settled into my fork, nudging the entrance. When the crown bulged my labia I gasped in muffled explosions of breath, and more followed its gradual piercing. Eventually the slug’s fat girth distended my passage.
Above, the scene changed. The tiny woman continued to kiss the giant awkwardly. Her bra, pushed up, allowed her breasts to squash into his bared abdomen. Below the waist he was equally bare with massive thighs, pillars of hairy wood, pressed into the woman’s groin. She cupped the sac of his testicles and his penis, not yet erect, lay on her forearm. From her fingertips several pounds of inflamed meat, thicker than her wrist, stretched halfway along her arm!
Stifled, I fought to inhale more air and squirmed as the shaft slid rapidly in sloppy heat. During brief stationary moments, the dildo wedged in my sex, Bernard’s thumb rotated my clit. I squirmed and moaned, hating being compelled so heartlessly.
The scene changed again. The giant sat beside the woman, and his full erection reared upwards. Her fingers, cupped over the bulging head, reached only a short distance down the stem. If, in her tiny body, she took his cock – Ah! – that cruel monster would split her in two.
At the unrelenting pressure of Bernard’s thumb I gasped helplessly and drifted away, gritting my teeth, determined to resist him. The massive slug stretched me ruthlessly.
Another change. The woman, naked, nipples like stalks, lay with her head to the camera, her wide mouth shrieking either in pleasure or pain, as the giant loomed above, plunging vigorously between her thighs. And every part of her – Ah! I trembled violently – would be stuffed unbearably. At least the woman, a shadow, had some choice, while I had none and struggling only hurt my arms. Incessant pressure, circling over that vulnerable spot – Ah! A fiery wave surged up from my groin. The giant’s thick bayonet – my slug – slurped in the flow of abundant juice and Bernard’s ravaging thumb would never cease. Above, it was clear – Ah! Another surge shook me from top and toe and the room dwindled and faded away. With my last dregs of energy used up, I twisted into Bernard’s body as if for shelter; the only way I could tell him to stop, please stop the unbearable torment.
Wincing, eyes tight, I screwed away from the window’s glare, clinking the ankle chain joined to the bedpost. If I was lucky today Bernard would soon come to set me free. If unlucky, he would send Maria the cook, an old crone dressed in black from head to foot, with leathery wrinkled skin. Her eyes, glittering obsidian, were so intense that I feared her malevolence – and with good reason.
Draped over her lap, bound hand and foot, Maria’s calloused hands had hurt like toughened boards during the spanking. The extra rope, tight in my crotch and separating my labia, emerged from its moist bed at the top of my slit and crossed the pubic bone up to the neckband. My first spanking, made more painful by being administered by another woman; an old unforgiving mother to an errant daughter! My bitter tears were compounded of pain, the rope’s insidious stimulation, and humiliation increased by Bernard’s obvious pleasure. When the mirror revealed the bruising marks etched into my pliant flesh I had found it hard to forgive him. But as the throbbing stings diminished, my feelings had also modified. I had, after all, granted him the power to rule and he had led me into a web, a maze, too intricate to understand. The remnants of my own power lay in tattered pride at never protesting. My reward came from heightened sensations.
A key rasped in the lock and the door swung open.
Bernard had studied every detail of my body but not, before now, revealed himself. I had never known a man to be so reserved; it drove me mad. Greedily I absorbed the sight of his barrel chest covered in fine silver hair, his broad muscular thighs, a flaccid penis dangling over his balls and the whole smothered in thick pubic hair. As he moved closer, my desire swayed to and fro and I wriggled onto my spine, breasts slumped in mounds at the sides of my ribs. Bernard leaned over to place my right wrist on the rail behind my head.
As a bondage fetishist his favourite routine was to bind me intricately, positioning and winding thin white rope with meticulous care.
‘You gain beauty with each strand,’ he murmured.
For me the tedious process had a different outcome. How, when securely bound, could I feel free?
Bernard moved around the bed to secure the left side. During the entire silent period every motion of his slack tool tantalised my mouth until, at last, the hooded crown wiped my lips. In darkness he toyed with me, only allowing me to kiss and lick its supple smoothness, bathed in spicy masculine scent. I relished the daylight view and poked out my tongue to ripple against the sliding tube of flesh, widening my jaws invitingly. Briefly, raising my hopes, the voluptuous organ popped inside but out again, dragging saliva over my cheek. If only that wet streak could be his semen! Surging with lust I whispered, ‘I’m so hot. Let me taste you this time.’ He kept me waiting until, once again, I crumbled in shame and whimpered, ‘Please!’ It was so humiliating to be forced, once again, to plead. In my past experience men urgently wanted to fuck me.
Unexpectedly the miracle happened. When the weighty rod sank into my oral cavity I adored the feel of hot flesh throbbing and lurching. Starved, I sucked avidly while, in my mind, a pattern revolved. This man: my master. My master’s cock with a sculptured velvet plum. This cock: my true master. Bernard, groaning quietly, gave in to my appetite and straddled my chest, his thighs squashing my breasts as he leaned forwards. Elated, I formed a smooth tunnel for the luscious sex which continued to swell. If my hands were loose they would pull the man’s butt to encourage my master deeper inside. I squinted along the stiff length, moving rhythmically, and its broad blunt cap nudged the back of my throat. It made me choke but I didn’t care; my master’s pleasure was paramount. As he thrust steadily into me I imagined his pouring tributes and my frantic squirming strained the bonds. I wanted my master’s surging spunk in my throat but also coats of his cream on my face; every drop, everywhere. The first impulse splashed on the roof of my mouth before he pulled out. A wad fell on my teeth, a strand blocked one eye, and more spattered erratically over my lips. From my chin a dangling thread crept down. Bernard looked at my soiled condition while I gazed amorously at the purpled knob and a creamy drool oozing from the tip. My master dipped once more, allowing my tongue to wash him clean.
Bernard released my right hand and murmured, ‘Clean yourself.’
Patiently, following directions, I dragged the gifts from scattered locations and fed on it, piece by piece, quivering as I swallowed.
Maria’s piercing eyes observed every move. Immersed in silvered water from the overhead shower, I ignored her and continued to wash. When I stepped out she approached, her black robe flapping behind, and gestured curtly, giving me no time to dry. A small lake collected on the tiles around my feet while I held out my wrists for the handcuffs. They snapped together and at the next command I turned apprehensively to face the shower. Raising my arms I gripped the rail above and waited tensely with water dripping from soaking hair onto my shoulders. I hoped she would not repeat –
Claws kneaded my buttock curves lasciviously and then insisted I open my legs. Investigating my cleft, a calloused finger crudely probed my anal hole. I gritted my teeth and held on desperately. Treatment like this, when it happened untied, destroyed my dignity but I knew better than to pull away – that earlier protest had led to a spanking I’d never forget. As one horny nail thrust into the dry, tight aperture I yelped, my hips bucked forwards and I only breathed again, shakily, when the invader withdrew. The crone moved under my crotch, rubbed my labia mercilessly, and I groaned aloud. These unspeakable intimacies were a terrible trial. Maria’s voraciousness suggested not just simple play but actual desire. I flinched at a truly horrible thought: had Bernard cruelly given me to the witch? Tough fingers burst suddenly into my channel, plunging deeply to emphasise their ownership, stretching out my vagina’s walls. I howled, squirming and clutching the rail, shamed by a flood that seemed to welcome the very thing I really hated. Into my mind flashed an image of the cook, lying back with her robe high, her naked wrinkled belly and spread thighs. Unkempt strands of black hair bearded her old, receptively parted, drooping lips. Bernard forced me closer, stifled by a stale smell in the ripe cleft, until I began to lap willingly –
‘Ahhh!’ Despairing orgasmic wails accompanied my helpless judders and pelvic convulsions. Throughout the spasms – and even after they’d subsided – the wedge of fingers, jammed inside, emphasised their domination. Finally, as they released possession, I vaguely heard Bernard’s laugh. ‘Let go and turn round,’ he said.
I discovered Maria sniffing her fingers and licking my lubrication with signs of pleasure. She looked up with glittering eyes. Recalling my own fevered image my cheeks, already flushed, flamed in embarrassment. Bernard laughed again and lifted my chin to kiss my mouth while his free hand fondled my breast. Woozy from the climax, I leaned against his rugged chest and responded passively.
He pulled back, and gripped my right arm, and Maria my left. As they marched me along the corridor Bernard delivered an unexpected stinging slap to one haunch. I gasped and squirmed away, only to meet an equally sharp slap from the maid. Their sport continued through a beaded screen and onto the bright unshaded terrace. I screwed my nerve for another ordeal. The terrace overlooked a narrow street with apartments opposite, giving the top floors a grandstand view. Here, in late-evening gloom, I had received Maria’s spanking and wondered how many spies had been attracted by regular cracks in the silent air. But now, men could be staring salaciously at my nakedness and I cringed, clearly exposed with nowhere to hide, never before so vulnerable.
My captors provided one important concession by leading me to a wrought-iron chair turned away from the terrace rail. Perhaps, with only my back visible, watchers would think I was sunbathing topless. I also welcomed the soft cushion for my pulsing butt while Bernard started to form elaborate links, fastening my left leg to the chair. When he widened my right to match the opposite leg I realised his intention. Nevertheless, lulled by the heat of the sun, I almost dozed, cuffed hands in my lap, and stirred only when Maria lifted them. Released, I had to place my forearms on the chair’s arms for Bernard to resume his patient work.
At last, with a final flourish, he completed the binding and stepped back. I struggled to obtain the slightest movement but every limb had, of course, been locked. To him, bonds gave me beauty but, in a strange way I did not understand, I also felt beautiful. Ignoring Maria’s dark scowl I smiled up at Bernard.
‘Magnificent,’ he breathed. ‘Aesthetically pleasing. Your breasts hang splendidly, your pointed nipples are very fine, and your dark slit is pouting generously. It’s inviting a shag, right now.’
I tensed. Here, in full view –
‘Instead, I’ll take photographs.’
‘No!’ I screeched. ‘They could ruin my reputation … my career.’
‘So – your first defence will lie in sunshades. Second, I’ll use film so there’s nothing digital to appear on the internet. Third, I’ll give you the negs and prints.’
Given those assurances, the idea sounded appealing; I had few pictures of myself naked and none exposed so lewdly, open-crotched. Large round glasses disguised a substantial portion of my face and when the time came, moistening between my legs, I smiled alluringly into the lens.
After several shots Bernard said, ‘You need decorations. Maria, fetch the box.’
Her gap-toothed grin looked ominous. Bernard knelt in my wide fork, lifted each breast in turn and sucked my nipples, tongue flicking, extending them in his lips. Unbearably aroused, my breathing deepened and, when Maria returned, tight stalks projected out from my breasts.
The box appeared innocuous and its opened lid masked the contents. Maria rummaged inside, prolonging the scrapes and rasps of metallic objects, trying to increase my nervousness. When she produced a long silver clip and opened its jaws I jerked in horror, screeching the chair’s le
gs. The clamp extended across my breast and its jaws settled around my sensitive tip, squeezing hard. When they snapped shut I jolted violently, my eyes rounded in shock. Maria lifted another clip and tightened it ruthlessly onto the second. As the jaws snapped again my head craned back, mouth wide, and a leathery palm smothered my scream instantly.
‘Mustn’t alarm the neighbours,’ Bernard said.
The reminder of watchers forced me to subdue my reactions and my deep gulps of air wobbled the weights eccentrically. My nipples, beyond their flattened bases, stuck out as luscious berries. In Bernard’s subsequent shots my face, cleared of every artifice, could only register raw emotions.
‘Next,’ he called.
Maria applied a small nipping clamp to the delicate surface of one breast. At the teeth’s full force I gasped and wrenched. Identical clamps followed; another on the first, two more on its twin. Another pair snatched my belly and at each sharp bite I jerked involuntarily and cried out. Others, more painful, clenched the tender flesh of my inner thighs, a pair in each, but the most severe were two in my labia. My head fell back and Maria’s hand again stifled a helpless scream.
Desperately I fought for control while Bernard continued to photograph. ‘Really magnificent –’ he called ‘– a total of fourteen.’ At last he finished, released the awful nipple pressures, and I slumped forwards in massive relief. ‘One day I’m sure you’ll enjoy these pictures.’
Alone on the terrace my mind slowly cleared. The twelve remaining clamps were cold crystal jewellery but what strange process transformed their pain to pleasure, borne with pride? Later I realised that the people opposite must have known something sexual accounted for my writhing and stifled shrieks, especially with a photographer moving around. At least they couldn’t observe the reason. In the silent heat I lost all track of time until Maria arrived to release the adornments and remove the glasses. When she held up a mirror I gazed in chilled awe at the puckered red marks deep in my skin. Each photograph would be that mirror, retaining the memory after they faded.
Nexus Confessions: Volume Three Page 2
