InfernalRestraints Model 1016 Live, 2022 May 23

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A acquaintance gave me his smartphone number weeks ago. "Call him. Just call him," she said. I’d stopped dating. It wasn’t the guys. Well, maybe a little. "Look, I’m over ‘relationships’ for the moment. I just want to be by myself for awhile. That’s all." My acquaintance shrugged. "Call him," she said again. I was the youngest of 3 girls. Growing up, I’d watched my sisters and their dude friends. Clumsy smooches in the barn. Forearms groping, pushed away, more groping. I had dreams, murky pictures in my head. And I’d groped with myself some nights, unsatisfied, my kneading enlargening my longing. Like rods were doing now. Oh, I’d had lots of rods the last few years, immense ones, petite ones. rods that were hair-trigger, and rods that had to be coaxed. rods that enjoyed your basic fuck, and rods that desired anything but your basic fuck. And I’d lie in sofa afterward with every one of those rods (never guys, or men, just cocks), damp, salty, from time to time kneading in the dark after they commenced snoring, and I desired more, less, nothing, everything. I desired something I couldn’t admit to myself. I desired and wanted, but I was afraid. "Call him," my acquaintance said. It was the devised lounging in the dark that stopped me from calling, and the aroma of supposed love, and the emptiness, the loneliness, the unhappiness that was always worse after it was over. I was kneading in the dark. When I ultimately made the call, he told me to come alone and to wear a mini-skirt and blouse. No underwear. My Forearms shook. I smoothly-shaven everything that night. Everything but my head. I shoveled a tabouret in front of the mirror and sat in it, naked. I kneaded myself, my gams opened up and soles resting against the wall on either side of the mirror. I inspected each fold of my cooch and cunt, then kneaded my frigs to my mouth, tasting myself. And I massaged my breasts, watching, playing with my puffies until they hardened. I glided my frigs in and out of myself, the frigs of one hand in my asshole, the frigs of the other in my cunt. And all the while, I watched. I was a stranger to myself. I was nobody I’d ever encountered before. The first thing he did that night was to truss me arched over a cage. Some other woman was locked inside of it. "You think I’m going to fuck you?" he said, arching close, but not massaging me. "Only if you’re lucky." And he cocked his head, his eyes sad, as though he pitied me. "Don’t worry." He smiled then, but it made me shiver. "I’m only going to hurt you a little." I desired to say something sexy. I desired to make him want me. I desired to do all the things I’d learned thru the years, the way a woman takes control. But I couldn’t. I was falling. I was out of control. I was violating into pieces. He smiled because he knew everything the moment he witnessed me. He’d watched my eyes wander once he’d unlocked the door to his "special room" and led me inside. The walls were covered with straps, ropes, chain, shackles. My figure was on fire. That night he cut my attire off me. He fettered me to a iron bar. He locked a intense steel band on my neck. Chain inbetween my legs, around my breasts. iron in my mouth, my ass. iron clamps tweaking my nipples. And later, wand in my cunt. He spread me out spread-eagle, lounging on my back. He packaged leather around my neck and tightened. He cut off my air. He made me come over and over. After he was done with me and let me loose, I kneeled in front of him and smooched his boots. He put a thinner band on my neck and locked it in place. "You’ll do everything I say. When I call, you’ll come immediately." I gawped at the floor. "Yes sir." "You’re mine now." I shivered, not from cold, but from something else, something new, an electricity. For the first time, I wasn’t kneading in the dark anymore. "Yes sir."