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“Damn, damn, damn!” I thought to myself, “What in the world have you gotten yourself into now, girl?”
I squirmed against the intense sensation of the vibrator as I felt and heard the unrelenting driving, pounding sound of the mini stallion as it forced the dildo deep inside me, then back out. Chuk-a-chuk-a-chuk-a-chuk, over and over and over, no stopping it.
I pulled helplessly against my bonds, straining against the padded leather wrist cuffs. I tensed the muscles in my thighs, pulling as hard as I could with my legs – but the ankle cuffs and thigh straps were unrelenting also. Sighing, panting into the ball gag firmly lodged in my mouth I felt my muscles go slack for a moment. There was no escape, I realized!
And with the realization that I was helpless the sensations of stimulation became overpowering. I tried to scream but only a stifled “mmmmmm…mmmmhhhummmph” escaped as I arched my back, hips rising, opening, presenting myself, shaking, surrendering to a powerful climax. My fifth? Sixth? Somehow time had lost all meaning; I didn’t know if I’d been like this for minutes or hours. Glancing at the clock on my nightstand I saw the time…9:24 PM, twenty four minutes into this torture.
I wondered how much more of this I could take.
I panted as my climax gradually subsided. The last thing I wanted now was more stimulation, but the mini stallion and vibrator continued relentlessly. I wriggled, pulling back and down, trying to escape the vibrator, but the spring loaded mechanism kept it firmly pressed against my clit. My thigh and leg bonds prevented me from moving more than an inch in any direction.
There was no escape! Over stimulated, the powerful vibrator on my swollen clit was painful beyond belief! I wanted it to stop, stop for just a few minutes, I couldn’t stand it! I screamed uselessly into the ball gag; again only muffled sounds came out.
In a dim corner of my mind I remembered my escape plan, remembered how – but it would take at least five minutes for me to free myself enough that I could move the vibrator, turn the stallion off. Fingers shaking I started to turn the turnbuckle, a half turn with my left hand, pause, strain, a half turn with my right hand, pause. I’d counted: It would require sixty three full turns before I’d be free.
In the meantime the vibrator kept thrashing my clit around, the dildo continued its invasion of my inner regions, chug-a-chug-a-chug…on and on. Now I couldn’t make myself turn the clamp for some reason, and I screamed into the ball gag again as I felt another climax building, knowing I was helpless…
Three weeks before was when it started.
First a bit about myself. I’m a thirty five years old reasonably attractive single female. I work as an executive for a medium sized company, which pays me a good salary. I have no boyfriend at present; my last relationship ended six months ago. I own a house in a good neighborhood, have a three year old Mercedes, no kids or pets.
Since I got my job I’ve had trouble meeting men. It’s not that I’m not interested; just that I don’t really have the time to put into a long term relationship right now. As if my schedule wasn’t busy enough I’m about halfway done with my MBA. Between school and work I don’t have much more time for anything.
But being a normal girl I still have needs and desires. I could do the one night stand thing – show up alone at one of the local meat markets, take a guy home, fuck his brains out, then never see him again – but there are problems with that. Aids, being beaten or killed, someone from work recognizing me. All are significant drawbacks.
And so I play on the internet. I found a sex site that had a bulletin board and created an anonymous identity. Different name, but described myself exactly – 5 foot zero inches, 105 pounds, 34C-22-32. Describing my tits to the guys (they’re silicone, but look super!) drove most of them wild. I found I could get a conversation going with some unknown guy and if I were just a BIT inventive I’d soon have him describing all the things he’d do to me in excruciating detail.
This was fun, especially as it allowed me to explore fantasies, perversions I’d be much too afraid to try. Men described how they’d spank me, how I’d be their slave girl, how they’d use me for their pleasure. It was all titillating and exciting! Most girls would agree that sex for women is about 90 percent mental anyway. I was getting the mental part; afterwards I’d go home and give Mr. Buzzy a good workout and I’d be in good shape for a day or two.
A sweet arrangement. Then I got The Picture.
Now, let me explain. I’d set up an anonymous email also; guys sent me emails and pictures regularly. The pictures usually were of themselves or of a fantasy they enjoyed and thought I’d participate in with them. Most were mildly interesting at best; some were downright gross.
Then one day I opened a picture a guy sent me, and it blew me away.
The picture was of a girl, mid to late twenties, short dark hair kartal escort the same color as mine but a bit shorter; small boobs, a small girl, probably not much bigger than me. And she was spread eagled on a white sheet on a bed, wearing leather wrist and ankle cuffs; they were tied to the corners of the bed. She had a ball gag in her mouth, strapped behind her head.
She was naked.
But the most incredible things were: She had a hugs dildo jammed in her pussy, held there by some kind of rod (it ran out of the picture). And there was a stand rigged up like a microphone stand but instead of a microphone there was a huge vibrator with a mushroom head attached to the end and it was resting right on the top of her pussy.
Her head was up off the sheet; she was looking down at the vibrator and at herself. She had the most pitiful look on her face, like she was trying to scream or say something but couldn’t get it out for the gag. She was slick from sweat, her hair stringy and plastered to her head. She looked like she’d been exercising intensely for some time.
Now, this should have disgusted me. At least that’s what I kept thinking as I stared at the girl in the picture. And then a strange thought crossed my mind.
I wanted to be that girl.
I closed the picture, disgusted with myself. Bound, helpless, tortured like that – what was wrong with me?
But I couldn’t help it. I kept going back and opening the picture, staring at the girl. “What’s your story?” I asked her. “Why are you there, what is happening to you?”
I reread the email. The guy had posted the picture as a link. I “back traced” a bit, found the parent site. It was called “slave girl dot com” or something. Fascinated, I entered the site, began to read.
The men who operated the site charged a fee, twenty bucks a month for full access. I’d never signed up for a porn site before but I couldn’t help myself – I went to the signup page and forked over my credit card number. Armed with full access I found the video of the girl in the picture; the picture was a still from an hour long video. I watched the whole thing, a couple of times. I watched a few others. I was fascinated!
“They come in as girls,” the site proclaimed on its first page, “but leave as slaves. Most have never been fucked by a machine; those girls are scared at first. The ones who’ve been machine-fucked before can’t wait to get it again!”
So, the way it worked was: The girl signed a release, was paid some undisclosed amount of money. She then got a full physical to make certain she didn’t have medical problems that would keep her from being stimulated for a long period of time.
Anyway, she then stripped for the cameras. One of the men would then help her put the wrist and ankle cuffs on. The girl would usually start getting a little concerned; when the ball gag was produced most got downright scared. At this point someone would remind her that she’d signed a contract and already been paid; if she didn’t fulfill the contract they’d sue her. And besides, they assured her she wouldn’t be hurt in any way.
And so the girl would reluctantly put the ball gag in her mouth, pulling the strap behind her head. And the man would indicate that she was to lie on the bed and he’d then pull ropes from the corners of the bed and attach them to her wrist and ankle cuffs. And then he’d put thigh straps around each of her thighs and attach ropes to them also.
The ropes had some kind of slide; if they were pulled they could be shortened. The man would first pull her hands up so she was helpless. Then he’d pull her thigh and leg ropes so she was spread wide. He’d adjust everything so she was more or less secured, able to squirm a bit but not much.
Then he’d produce the mini stallion. It was what was called a “fucking machine”, a small metal and plastic device. It had a motor with variable speed control and a metal wheel about six inches in diameter. A metal rod was attached to the wheel by a clip: By adjusting the clip the stroke length could be varied.
The girl’s eyes would get really wide; she’d try to protest as the man explained this to her but the gag always prevented anything but muffled sounds. As he’d put the machine in place at the foot of the bed he’d put some lube on a dildo attached to the rod, then adjust the rod so the dildo entered her pussy. This was usually accompanied by more muffled sounds and squirming, but the girl’s bonds would hold her so she couldn’t escape.
Then the man would turn the machine on, slow strokes at first. The wheel would turn forcing the rod out; the dildo would slide into the girl’s pussy.
I watched the girl’s faces as they were invaded by the soft plastic penis. Most arched their backs and squeezed their eyes tightly shut as they felt themselves impaled on the artificial cock. Some moaned, some tried to scream.
Then the wheel would continue its motion, pulling the dildo almost all the way out. Then again it would go slowly in; again slowly maltepe escort bayan out. After a bit the girl would begin to relax, usually panting into her gag. When the man would see this acceptance he’d begin to increase the frequency of the strokes. After five minutes he’d have the machine to about sixty or so strokes a minute, about what you’d get when a man was driving toward his own climax.
I can tell you – with a real man inside your pussy you wouldn’t get that for long, though!
And the man would leave the machine on, continuing its invasion of the girl’s pussy. The girl would squirm from time to time and moan a bit. I knew what was happening: The sensations felt good; she wanted to climax but didn’t have any clitoral stimulation.
I imagined how I’d feel in her place.
Then after a half hour or so of this torture the man would produce a metal stand, a microphone stand but with a vibrator on the end. Not a wussy battery one either; the vib actually plugged in to the wall! He’d adjust the stand so the mushroom head of the vibrator was at the top of her slit, right on her clit. Then he’d turn it on.
Usually the girl would cum quickly, in less than a minute, moaning into the gag and bucking as much as she was able in her restraints. Then as she relaxed she’d try to wriggle away from the vibrator (again I could sympathize; the last thing I wanted after cumming was more stimulation!) but the man would keep the powerful vibrator firmly against her clit.
This was the look on the face of the girl in the picture I was sent. Helpless, over stimulated, wanting it to end but unable to – at the mercy of the man.
This would continue for an hour, sometimes more. The poor girl would cum and cum and cum, over and over and over, until she was nothing but a panting, sweating bundle of nerves. She’d strain and strain against the ropes, over and over, until her strength was depleted and she lay helpless in the huge wet spot her juices had produced.
When they were released the girls wouldn’t be able to move. The man would offer them water, holding a straw in the glass. They’d drink one, two, three glasses greedily. The men would laugh and make some rude comments. Then the video would end.
I watched twenty girls being abused in this manner. I felt ashamed of myself, ashamed that I found this so exciting. I kept imagining I was sleeping; a man broke into my house and held me down and put wrist and ankle cuffs on me, tied me to the bed, and forced a ball gag into my mouth. And then he’d pull out the mini-stallion machine and the vibrator and torture me for hours and hours and I’d struggle and try to scream and cum and cum and cum until I was nothing but a helpless, sweating bundle of nerves.
And then he’d release me and I’d beg him not to stop, to bind me again and torture me more.
This kept up for a week. I couldn’t think of anything but being tied down and fucked by the machine, helplessly performing. Sometimes there was one man, sometimes more, torturing me and laughing at my helpless predicament. I considered writing to the men who ran the site, volunteering for one of their “sessions” as they called them. The money wouldn’t be a problem – hell, I’d even pay them! But I kept coming back to the fact that a video of me naked and on display would then be on the internet for all to see.
I couldn’t allow that. My career would be ruined if anyone I worked with saw it.
Then I considered finding a professional Dom who would give me this fantasy. The problem there was, all professional Doms are female; besides, I couldn’t trust someone else not to take pictures or make a video of me. After all, I’d have no control. The fantasy was all about giving over control.
I gradually realized that if I wanted this fantasy I’d need to first give it to myself. Then it might go away; if not, I’d find some acceptable man who would agree to be my torturer. In effect I’d be offering myself as his slave.
This thought gave me goose bumps and made me shiver.
First I searched the internet. I found a place that sold the mini stallion and other “toys”. It was a little pricey – a little over a thousand bucks – but I had plenty of money saved. I sent off for it. They also had the vibrator used on the girls in the slave girl site, called a “magic wand”. I ordered that also.
I had a few days before the stallion and vib would arrive. I wanted the fantasy to be complete, as close as possible to what the girls on the slave girl site were forced to endure; I didn’t want to “experiment” with bits and pieces beforehand. Nevertheless, some experimentation would be necessary.
I visited a local porno shop. In addition to magazines and videos they had a good line of vibrators and other sex toys. I found leather wrist and ankle cuffs lined with soft fur like material on the inside and leather thigh straps and the ball gag there. They were more expensive than I’d imagined; I bought them anyway.
Next I made a trip to the local hardware store escort pendik where I bought some soft nylon rope and the pulls like the ones I’d seen in the video. I also bought some clips to attach to the ropes.
That night at home I tried everything out. My bed is a light oak king sized four posted canopy bed; just right for what I had planned. I put the cuffs and thigh straps on; after some experimentation I found I could tie the free end of each rope to the side or post of the bed, then attach them to the ankle and thigh bands. I could pull the free end of the rope; it would tighten then the rope pull would hold it securely in place. I soon had my legs and thighs spread obscenely wide, the bonds secure.
The next problem was how to bind my arms. I considered attaching one wrist to the top post of the bed, then leaving the other free. This would work but the idea was to be helpless. One arm free didn’t sound helpless; however, I needed to be able to free myself.
Finally I hit on an idea. I made another trip to the hardware store. This time I bought an eyebolt with a wood screw end, a long metal turnbuckle like those used to attach clothesline, and two small brass padlocks. I found a wall stud behind the headboard, made a hole, and screwed the eyebolt in it, using a screwdriver through the eyebolt hole for leverage. When I had it screwed down I pulled; it was solid as a rock.
There’d be no escaping if I were locked to the eyebolt.
Next I took the turnbuckle, locked one end to the eyebolt with one of the brass locks. I then hooked the wrist cuffs together by their snap rings and attached the other end of the turnbuckle to the rings with the other brass lock. I didn’t have the cuffs on at the time; I wanted to make sure I could get out of the restraints but not too easily.
As I’d surmised, I could turn the turnbuckle with it attached to the eyebolt and wrist restraints, slowly expanding it. I’d bought a rather large turnbuckle; I counted how many turns it took before it unscrewed completely and fell apart.
Sixty three turns.
Next I unlocked the padlock holding the cuffs to the turnbuckle, and then screwed it all the way back together. Heart pounding, I placed the key to the lock on the night stand, strapped the cuffs to my wrists, and lay back. I held the padlock with my fingers. With a bit of squirming I was able to line the turnbuckle up with the ring on the wrist cuffs. I fed the lock hasp through the ring and turnbuckle but didn’t lock it.
I could barely touch the turnbuckle with my fingers. Lying back I found I could turn the turnbuckle only a half turn with my the fingers on my right hand, then I’d have to switch to my left hand. I had to stretch; I couldn’t get the fingers from both hands on it at the same time.
I was able to slowly work the turnbuckle open. My fingers cramping, I finally had it unscrewed all the way; it fell apart and my hands were freed. I looked over at the clock: Ten minutes since I’d started. I reasoned that I could probably improve on that time with practice but in any case it would take me at least five minutes to release myself. I could then get the key from the night stand and unlock the padlock, remove the wrist cuffs, and sit up.
The next problem was how to turn the stallion and vibrator on. In my fantasy I was helpless like the girls on the slave girl site when they were activated, a half hour apart. I bought a couple of power strips, the kind with switches. Again some experimentation: I could plug both into an outlet behind the bed then lay them on the mattress near the top, where I could reach them with my bound hands.
I tried this using a couple of lamps plugged into the strips. I bound my hands, again using the turnbuckle and unsnapped lock. If I was careful I could turn the strips on one at a time, and then push each off the mattress. They’d fall to the floor behind the bed where I couldn’t reach them if my hands were bound.
I finally worked up the nerve to do a “dry run”. I arranged a Saturday lunch and shopping date with a girlfriend; we agreed she’d pick me up at my house at noon.
That morning I showered and brushed my teeth, then had my usual yogurt cup breakfast, then puttered around for a bit. Finally tired of stalling I wrote, “Door open, come on in” on a post-it note and stuck it to the outside of my front door. I made certain the door was unlocked.
Heart pounding I took my robe off. Dressed only in bra and panties I removed my new toys from the nightstand drawer and began to set everything up.
I attached the ropes for the thigh and ankle cuffs to the sides of the bed. I’d finally given in and drilled small holes in the wooden rail around the bottom of the bed just for this. The holes weren’t noticeable; they were normally covered by the sham anyway. I carefully threaded the rope ends through the holes and tied them, leaving the free ends on the bed. Pushing the draws with my thumb I let the ropes out to their full length one at a time.
Next I rigged up the lamps and the power strips, placing the strips at the head of the bed on the mattress where I could reach them. I strapped the thigh, ankle, and wrist cuffs to myself. Checked the turnbuckle; it was fully compressed, one end still locked to the eyebolt behind the headboard.
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