I certainly can’t blame anyone else for this- I got myself into this fix all by my own damn self. Of my own free will, driven by my own over-active hormones and my own emotional shortcomings, I voluntarily and eagerly threw myself under the wheels of the express train that is Mistress Ellen. Of my own free will, I got naked and recorded a videotaped statement that basically asked Her to do anything to me if only she would bind me helpless and then I would be allowed to kiss Her ass. I really did that, and here I am.
To introduce myself, the protagonist of this story, I’ll say that I’m a young middle-aged man, reasonably well off, divorced. I’ve been hooked on bondage literature for a long time, for years- initially the glamorous-babe glossy stuff, I put a couple of spring clothespins on my nipples and lay the keys on the kitchen table. Then I cuffed my hands behind my back and squirmed helplessly in front of a glossy photo of a girl wearing latex panties and rope. After being pretend-helpless for a while, I squirmed around to get my hands free. For a bit I wasn’t at all sure I could get the cuffs off, which gave me both a sense of real imprisonment and an incredible hard-on! After that episode I fastened one of the keys to an aluminum bar handle so I could release myself when I was ready. That sort of scene was very erotic for a while, but only for a while.
Later, I graduated to more complicated stuff and staged some really complicated self-bondage scenes in my homemade basement ‘dungeon’- suspension and the whole nine yards, tying myself up as close to helpless as I could get and staring at a magazine or a video, making hot-female comments and groans until I got incredibly hot before I would release myself and jerk off.
A real revelation came when I read about the trick of hanging your escape keys from a nylon stocking with ice cubes in the foot end. With that trick, I could do all sorts of things to myself and really be truly bound and helpless, at least for a while. That let me stage some really elaborate and stringent bondage scenes, some of which lasted for hours. By the time I was released by the melting ice, I was so horny that I blasted cum all over the floor!
But somewhere along my path through life I picked up a magazine that had a mix of both female-Dominant and male-Dominant bondage, and I slowly realized that it wasn’t necessarily gay stuff after all, and that what I had fantasized about for years was in fact Female Dominance, but I had been blinded by my urge to stare at a pretty girl. Once I became secure enough to accept looking at a beautiful Dominant girl with a submissive guy, I moved into a new phase of my fantasy life. I started reading every magazine that came even close to FemDom. Now I didn’t have to pretend to be a bound girl- I could be a man who was bound by a Mistress!
But now I knew what I wanted and needed was a Mistress. Do-it-yourself
bondage was fun but less than satisfactory. Knowing that I could eventually
free myself spoiled the bondage since I was never really truly helpless.
Certainly, making myself helpless and not leaving a way out didn’t seem
like a good idea, since I would either starve to death (not erotic at all)
or be found and rescued by the old lady next door (improbable and also
not erotic at all). So I kept on with my solitary masturbation (which at
the very least gave me an orgasm, which is not at all bad). One day I spotted
an ad in one of my favorite ‘contact’ magazines which I bought to reassure
myself that there really were ‘real’ FemDom practitioners out there. This
ad seemed promising and had a local post office box. I put together
a ‘resume’, mailed it, and waited until a gracefully scripted letter arrived
in my mailbox. This is the rest of the story.
As our combination fancy dinner date and interview ended, Mistress Ellen had told me with a gentle smile “All right, would-be slave, you are provisionally accepted. Come to My place for your final testing and I will determine whether you are worthy of true slave status. The time and place are on the letter, along with initial instructions. Be prompt and appropriate.”
I arrived twenty minutes early at the address Mistress Ellen’s note had indicated. I paced the sidewalk and walked around the block several times, trying not to skulk while I nervously killed time. The address Mistress Ellen’s note specified was a large, elegant house in an old, established, classy part of town- not the sort of place where one skulks.
Promptly at 8 P.M., I walked with a determined stride up the walk and rang the doorbell; the door was answered by a silent tower of a man clad in black leather which covered him completely from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. I held out the note and said “Hello- I’m Bob Kowalski, and I am here to see Mistress Ellen.” He inspected the note, wordlessly stepped aside and held the door open for me. He led me silently down the hall to an door labeled “The Room for Preparation” in an elegant Gothic script.
I stepped past him (I whimsically labeled him Igor, for lack of a name) into the room, which was empty except for full-length mirrors on three walls and a small door at floor level. I took a deep breath and nodded to my escort, who nodded back. He gently but firmly closed the door with a muted but exceedingly solid “THUD!”. I noticed that my side of the door had no handle. I think at that moment I realized that I had set fire to the bridge I had just crossed, but at that moment I had no desire at all to turn back.
Actually, I realized that there certainly would be times in the very near future when I sincerely and desperately wanted to turn back, to chicken out, and I wanted to make sure that- if I did weaken- that there would be no way to back out, no way out. That’s something common to all my successful self-bondage scenes, where some single action like dropping a rope or locking the handcuffs signals a ‘point of no return’. Some of my scenes involve suspension, when I step off a chair and find I can’t step back up because a too-cleverly-placed rope holds my legs up behind me. I often fantasize about strapping myself to the toilet; I bend down, reaching my arms under my thighs, and grab a pair of handcuffs which are threaded through the rope which locks my knees together, and with a CLACK-CLACK-CLACK ratchet the cuffs down on my wrists, knowing that the only keys to the cuffs are nestled in the warm bra cup of my Mistress, who is at that moment boarding a plane for somewhere else. At any rate, that last action signals that I am committed and helpless. And that action always brings both fear and a rush of blood to my penis!
I stood there waiting for a moment, wondering what was going to become of me, when I heard a sound at my feet. I looked down to see the small door had been pushed open by an cardboard box pushed through from outside. I pulled out the box and looked into the opening, but there was nothing but a door on the other side. I looked into the box and found only a sheet of paper on which was written “Presuming you wish to continue, you will remove your clothing and place it all in this box. You will then return the box to the wall opening, close the door and await further instructions.”
After a moment’s pause to consider how crazy I was, I stripped off my street clothes and put them in the box: shirt, socks, shoes, underpants, car keys, watch, the note, everything. Feeling very naked, I carried the box over to the small door in the wall (which also had no handle) and placed the box in the opening. I pushed the door closed and heard it latch- one more one-way crossing; I was committed, or maybe I should be committed.
I waited a couple of minutes, really a very long time when you’re naked and locked in a small room with nothing to do but stare back at your naked reflection in a mirror, pondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into. Then I heard sounds and saw the little door in the wall swing open again, pushed by another box. I pulled the box out and opened it. It contained a short “Letter of Instructions”: “You have properly taken the first step. You will now dress yourself in these garments and await further orders”.
Under the letter was a harness; I lifted it out. It was basically a pair of industrial-strength heavy black rubber shorts with a heavy rubber belt and a set of equally sturdy nylon suspenders. Under the harness was a dainty white pushup bra and a matching pair of thong panties with a small, neatly-hemmed slit in the crotch. That completed my inventory of the box, so I got dressed.
First, I wrapped the bra around my waist, hooked it, and twisted it around- that’s how we know that bras were designed by a man to be put on and taken off by a man! I pulled it up until the white underwired garment and its delicate padding cupped and lifted my tits gently. (I used to lift weights and have pretty muscular shoulders, but over the years I’ve softened some so I can fill a lacy 40A very prettily, and a 38B WonderBra looks and feels super.) I pulled the straps up over my shoulders; they were just long enough. Mistress Ellen had asked for some pretty intimate measurements, and now I was seeing why.
I looked at the shorts; they were quite heavy and looked a bit too small. No, actually they looked a lot too small, but then again they were made of rubber- sturdy, stretchy rubber. Mounted on the inside at the appropriate place was a butt plug- a bit less than an inch in diameter at the neck, almost two inches wide at the thickest, and about four inches long. Just forward of the butt plug was a small hole, maybe a half an inch across, and just forward of the hole was a rubber sheath which I recognized as a cock restraint, a variant on a male chastity belt. I didn’t know what the hole was for- clearly it was too small for either my cock or my balls to hang through and it was in the wrong place for my cock- so I just ignored it for the moment.
I felt a flush of humiliation as I realized that there was only one way I could lubricate the butt plug... but then, humiliation was one of the reasons that brought me here, wasn’t it? I held the rubber shorts up to my face, sucked the plug into my mouth, and moistened the plug with my tongue as much as I could. Then I drooled on the plug, getting it good and wet, before I squatted down and practiced slipping the butt plug into my ass, lubricating it as well as the plug. (Yes, straight though I might be, I’ve pushed a few things up my ass… it’s too good an erogenous zone to pass up. Also, having a dildo forced up my butt, being bound and butt-fucked by a Dominant, is an incredibly exciting fantasy.)
The first couple of attempts failed and I repeated the process of drool-and-shove until I finally felt the slab of rubber sliding into me. First the plug wedged my asshole open (ah, the delight of that first penetration!), then spread it wider (stretching me uncomfortably wide), and finally too wide (like “this thing’s going to break my ass apart!”). Determined, I pressed the plug smoothly into my guts until my well-lubricated and thoroughly-stretched asshole snapped firmly closed around its relatively narrow neck; the plug plunged deep into my bowels. I squirmed for a moment, getting used to the feeling of too-fullness.
After my asshole grew somewhat accustomed to the feeling of being packed- this plug was bigger than I’m used to- I pulled the shorts up to my hips. The shorts stretched skin-tight over my ass cheeks, and the rubber of the crotch pressed the plug firmly and deeply into me. The rubber was sturdy, and when it was stretched really tight, every bit of me was compressed- my belly, my ass cheeks, and especially my crotch!
My cock was quite stiff now- that happens when I start ‘dressing up’ or getting ready for bondage. I pulled the front of the shorts down until I could feed my cock down through the ‘chastity sheath’. It took some wiggling, but eventually my eager cock was head-down full-length into the sheath, bent sharply downward and pressed back against my crotch. By now, my cock was fat and swollen, but (thanks to the fiendish designers of the medieval chastity belt) not hard. Damn… this might be the worst part of my bondage!
After some squiming, I had the snug rubber shorts tugged into position. They fit like a second skin, only stretchier and tighter. The waist was high, securely gripping me right up to my tits. The backside was cut high, like hot pants- they exposed the lower half of my ass-cheeks and the fold between my ass and my upper thigh that I consider so sensual on women. I took advantage of the mirrors to admire the new shape the shorts forced me into. The stringently stretchy rubber lifted my ass cheeks and shaped them. I thought they made my ass look hot, high and round! I finished by tightening the heavy belt and adjusting the suspenders, so the shorts were pulled even tighter.
Next, the panties. I slipped the lacy white garment up my legs and over the rubber covering. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror on the wall, turning around and around to get a better view. The backside of the thong nestled into the nether cleavage accentuated by the rubber shorts. Damn, for a guy, I had a hell of an ass! I realized I looked rather foolish- a six-foot man with a goatee wearing frilly panties over rubber shorts and a pushup bra?- but it felt just right at the moment.
* * * * *
Maybe two minutes after I finished, the door swung silently open and Mistress Ellen strode in. A vision of stern Dominant loveliness, She wore high-heeled boots and a skin-tight leather cat suit which proudly presented Her striking bosom. When She turned to close the door, I saw that the leather garment accentuated a backside which really needed no accentuating- round and full. Domineeringly beautiful as always, She quickly reviewed my dressing. With a disapproving look on Her gorgeous face, She gestured me to a chair. “Up, would-be slave.”
I stepped up, feeling the butt plug twisting uncomfortably in my guts and driving a thrill into my balls… I was growing to love the damned thing! Mistress Ellen reached to my crotch and thrust several fingers into the small hole I hadn’t known what to do with. Using those fingers, She grabbed my balls (oh, delight!) and dragged them quickly through the too-small hole. (That hurt, but I knew that this was definitely not the time to start complaining; She might just call the ‘bouncer’ and have me flung onto the street, which in my present condition would be an invitation to ‘bad things’.)
When She released my balls and withdrew Her fingers, the small rubber hole closed around my ball-sack and became MUCH too small, almost strangling my balls. The effect was like what happens when you hang a weight from your balls using a parachute- your balls get pushed to the bottom of their sack, the skin draws tight, they bulge, and they hurt!
Seeing Mistress Ellen looking expectantly at me, I ignored the discomfort of my ‘family jewels’ and smiled down at Her, trying not to be too obvious about staring down her bosom. “Down.” I hopped down, feeling the pretty little bra cupping my tits, the butt plug twisting at my bowels, my balls swaying heavily and vulnerably outside the shorts, and my cock straining to become erect under its restraints inside the really-tight short shorts. Damn- every move I made caused some part of me to feel awful, and I couldn’t control any part of it! This was fantastic!
“Properly arrange your panties, please, would-be slave.” It took a moment’s thought before I realized what She wanted; I reached down and pulled the bulging sack of my balls through the slit in my panties. I felt embarrassed, exposed, and deliciously humiliated. I was beginning to get an idea of what I had gotten myself into, and I loved it. If I had known what I was really getting into, I might not have loved it so much, but that’s why I was burning bridges behind me.
Mistress Ellen tapped on the door, which was immediately opened by Igor.
Walking with a confident, purposeful stride, She led me down a long, dimly-lit
hall to a massive wooden door with a sign in bold Gothic script which announced
All Hope Abandon, Ye Who Enter Here
(Oh, shit… that’s pretty much what’s on the sign at the entrance to Hell in Dante’s “Inferno”.)
She opened the door and I followed Her into the dimly lit room. After we entered, She extended one hand to flick a switch; what looked like a smoldering, flickering torch mounted on the wall lit up. Oh, shit… we were not alone! I knew Mistress Ellen had other slaves, of course, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to submit to Her bondage and humiliation before other male slaves. But of course wavering uncertainty like that was precisely the reason why I hadn’t left myself an out, wasn’t it? As She closed the door, I saw another bridge going up in flames.
Before us a handsome young man I’ll call Slave Number One stood helplessly on a circular wooden platform about six inches tall and about five feet in diameter. From the center protruded upward a two-inch-diameter pipe; his ball-sack was locked to the top of this post by a circular pipe clamp which was held closed by a simple pin. He couldn’t undo the pin and release himself (even if he had wanted to, and I realized that he must have begged for the honor of having Her lock his balls to that device) because his hands were tied behind him, crossed high on his back by a strap that went over his shoulders, under his arms, and across his back. His ankles were locked into ankle cuffs and straps which held his legs and thighs spread.
Slave Number One couldn’t have cried out even if he wanted to (maybe he wanted to by now, but like me he had burned his bridges). His mouth was packed by a rubber ball knotted into a nylon stocking which was tied behind his head. His breasts bore incredibly cruel sharp-toothed nipple clamps connected by a heavy steel chain. Into his asshole had been forced a thick rubber double-dong, and from his bowels more than a foot of this dong protruded obscenely like a second cock. He was forced by his bondage to face the center of the dungeon, but three tall mirrors stood behind him and one was set lengthwise on the floor in front of him.
Mistress Ellen was as fiendish as She was beautiful; not only did we have a clear, unobstructed view of his helpless humiliation from anywhere in the dungeon, but Slave Number One also had a clear reflection of his own helpless, humiliating position, both front and back. A tall leather collar was locked around his neck to hold it upright, ensuring he wouldn’t look away. He looked out at his own naked, bound, helpless and humiliated image and at me- another asshole who was bizarre enough to beg to be naked, helplessly bound and humiliated.
Mistress Ellen gestured to another corner of the dungeon; Slave Number Two had been bound on his elbows and knees, his mouth impaled by a thick pink rubber dildo mounted in a thick wooden block bolted to the platform. A nylon cord was fastened to the base of the dildo, wound around its shaft and up to his head where it was tied behind his head, securely affixing his mouth over the penis substitute. His wrists and elbows were anchored to eyebolts at the edges of the platform, holding his chest so it just grazed the base of the platform. At the appropriate points below his tits had been fastened plastic scrubbers, points up, to ensure his nipples would be miserably tormented should he even squirm- which I’m sure he did. Similarly, his ankles and knees were anchored to eyebolts, leaving his knees about a foot apart, his cock and calls dangling vulnerably.
A length of rough twine had been wrapped around Slave Number Two’s dangling cock and balls at their root. The cord had been wrapped around his balls (now purplish and I’m sure hurting) to bind and separate them, and then the cord had been laced up his cock until it was tied snugly in the notch below its flaring head. The tying must have been done when his cock was semi-hard, because the lacing now cut cruelly deep into the shaft of his erection. My cock winced in sympathy- it must have been agonizing. But at least he got to have an erection! I realized that my own cock, though fat and eager, was bound down and back in a position which would prohibit an erection until my Mistress deigned to allow it. Damn….
Three mirrors were positioned behind Slave Number Two and two more in front but a bit to the side of him so that he also was forced to either look at his own cruelly humiliating bondage (which I assume he, like the rest of us, had begged for on his knees) or at the spectacle of the other bound man exposed to him. With a grimace, I realized there were soon to be two men exposed to him! My own view of him, of course, was primarily that of his distressed face as it was skewered by the oversize dildo, but we also had an excellent mirrored view of his asshole and his suffering cock and balls as they dangled, swollen and heavy, between his thighs.
After I took in the spectacle of these two hormone-driven fools who were as hornily reckless as I, Mistress Ellen gestured with a sweep of Her arm to a third platform. At the sides of the platform lay two pairs of straps with cuffs, and from the ceiling hung another sturdy strap.
I looked at Mistress Ellen; She smiled and paused expectantly. I knew what she expected and I dropped to one knee before her: “Mistress Ellen, would you please bind me, make me completely helpless, and humiliate me?”
She smiled sweetly and gestured toward Platform Number Three. “Your place of bondage awaits you, slave-to-be. Don’t keep your Mistress waiting.” Without hesitating, my heart thumping because She had said She was ‘my Mistress’ and I was ‘Her slave-to-be’, I went to the platform and stepped up on it, eager to accept that which I had pleaded for.
Atop the platform, I faced the center of the dungeon, three full-length mirrors which Mistress Ellen had thoughtfully provided behind me, one in front. Reflected back by the mirror in front of me I saw the humiliating spectacle of a six-foot-tall man with a goatee wearing a lacy white bra which shaped his flesh and gave him pretty little breasts. Beneath that I saw he was wearing matching white panties over very tight rubber shorts, through both of which his balls hung and under which I could see a fat cock straining at its bindings. In the mirror in front of me I could see the mirrors behind me; we all had a great view of my ass and the way the rubber shorts pulled firmly into the crack of my ass. He didn’t look comfortable, but then comfort wasn’t what he had pleaded for, was it?
Mistress Ellen stepped up on the platform next to me and reached up, pulling down a heavy cotton strap; the chain holding it rattled ominously as it descended. Before hooking me to it, She spoke. “It’s not fitting for a Mistress to kneel; fasten your ankles and wrists to the straps, slave.” Obediently, I knelt (feeling the butt plug built into my sturdy rubber shorts twist at my guts with every motion of my legs) and retrieved an ankle cuff which I fastened about my left ankle. At the other end of the strap, which passed through a sturdy eyebolt at the side of the platform, was a smaller wrist cuff which I secured to my left wrist. I reached out for the other ankle cuff and secured it around my right ankle. If I stuck my already-cuffed left arm and leg ‘way out, there was just enough slack in the straps on my left for me to close the wrist cuff around my right wrist and insert the hasp-type closure. I stood up carefully and found that if I stood upright my legs were spread and my arms were pulled out from my sides by the straps attached to the cuffs which I had just locked upon myself. I realized again that the measurements I had willingly supplied had been carefully used to bind me securely and helplessly! But, of course, I was now far beyond the point of changing my mind, even if I had wanted to.
Mistress Ellen now took command of my situation. She hooked each end of the hanging strap to D-rings at the shoulders of my ‘suspenders’ and then stepped off the platform; I was awed by Her beauty as Her beautiful breasts bobbled, their smooth upper surface bared by Her catsuit. I watched as She stepped to the wall, loosed the end of the chain fastened there, and pulled. I looked up and saw the chain rattling in through the compound hoist; then the straps pulled tight and started to lift me by my suspenders. I felt first the stretching of the shorts, then the pressing of the butt plug into my ass, and lastly the incredible straining of my cock. Straining against the rubber sheath which held it head down, pressed up against my crotch, straining vainly to become erect. Shit!
Mistress Ellen pulled in on the chain, Her muscles flexing beautifully, until She lifted my feet off the platform. She lifted me about six inches and I felt the straps pulling my legs apart, my arms straight and tight, and then She secured the chain. The next bridge was burning brightly….
Mistress Ellen picked up something and stepped to me; I realized the object was a stiff leather collar like Slave Number One was wearing. I bent my head back obediently; after She strapped it around my neck and buckled it snug, my head was held stiffly upright. If I were to attempt to lower my head, the collar dug sharply into my chin as a reminder of the helpless position I had chosen for myself. In the mirrors Mistress Ellen had so thoughtfully provided, my own and those of the others, I had a panoramic view of the dungeon: of my own mostly-naked humiliation suspended spreadeagled in the air; of Slave Number One staring at me as he was pinioned helpless by his balls; and of Slave Number Two staring at me as he was forced to suck the cock that anchored him. But I could also view Mistress Ellen’s stern beauty in several mirrors, the commanding beauty that had forced me to beg that She do this to me.
Mistress Ellen stepped up on my platform; I watched in the mirror as Her long, powerful legs lifted Her beautiful body up to me. I wished I could lower my head just a trifle so I could gaze down the cleavage between Her beautiful breasts, there to dream of burying my face in Her loveliness, but She had already seen to it that I could not do that. “You like My breasts, Slave Number Three?”, She asked me. Again, I thrilled at Her voice, at the very thought of Her addressing me, of Her considering me Her slave. “Yes, I do, Mistress Ellen.”
“Hmmm… perhaps I should make you more aware of your own.” She reached out and I saw that She had in Her hand a pair of nipple clips- the kind that resemble a pair of tweezers. “Do you play with your nipples when you masturbate, Slave Number Three?” “Yes, I do, Mistress Ellen.” “Do you ever put clothespins or clamps on your nipples?” “Yes, I do, sometimes, Mistress Ellen.”
Mistress Ellen rolled down the lacy top edge of my bra, making it a very pretty demi-bra, and reached out to seize my nipple with two of Her fingers. “Part of the reason your experimentation with bondage was unsatisfactory was that you could release yourself whenever you felt like it, which made it unrealistic bondage. Similarly, when you placed clips on your own nipples, you yourself could determine how tight was tight enough.” She squeezed the nipple out so She could position the clamp on it and squeezed the clamp snug with two fingers.
“Is that about as tight as you make it when you play with yourself, Slave Number Three?” Overjoyed at the way She addressed me, I replied truthfully “Yes, Mistress, it is!” She moved the little adjusting ring up until the jaws were pressed in painfully on my nipple. “No, that’s how you think it should be. When you enter My domain, you give Me the power to decide for you how much you think is enough!” She smiled cruelly at me.
Mistress Ellen attached the matching clip to my left nipple and adjusted it to a similar too-firmness. She released the connecting chain to dangle between my breasts, which made the clips feel twice as tight. I bit off a little groan. “Do you see how much more satisfying it is when you have turned over to me total control over your body and soul, slave?” “Yes, I do, Mistress Ellen… thank You!”
Because of the ‘posture collar’ I couldn’t look down to see how badly my nipples were crushed, but in the mirror I could see the humiliating image of my small, rounded breasts postured by the frilly white bra and saw how my nipples bulged in the grasp of the clamps. Mistress Ellen smiled with what I was coming to know was Her usual cruel sweetness and reached out with Her fingers to first stroke my engorged nipples (I jerked at the sensation!) and then to push the rings to tighten the clamps even more.
“Yes, slave number three, I use your eyes as a meter to judge your pain.” I looked across the room to see Slave Number One staring at my severely-clamped nipples, wondering whether Mistress Ellen liked this new slave more, to encumber him with more painful clamps. Slave Number Two also stared at me, probably wishing She had also favored him with such degradation; his hips wiggled, causing his engorged and suffering cock and balls to sway heavily beneath his wide-spread crotch.
Mistress Ellen bent down and when She returned I saw that She was holding a tube of some kind from which She was squeezing a creamy white stuff. She smiled at me and reached out to my balls, projected defenselessly through the opening in my rubber shorts and my lacy white panties. I smiled back at Her as I felt Her fingers caressing my swollen balls, anticipating a certain amount of delightful frustration; Her delicate hand stroked them, and my hips almost automatically tried to thrust. But then I felt my balls start to burn, and I saw that She was holding up for me a tube of Ben-Gay. Ohhh, shit! That burning would last for a terribly long time. She stroked my balls for another moment, a moment filled with delight and pain, before She wiped Her hands on my ass cheeks (oh joy- she actually slipped Her hands up under my panties and shorts!) and then stepped down.
story continues in Her Three Guys 2