Mistress Ellen’s Academy 3.1

by Bob Salinas

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© Copyright 2007 - Bob Salinas - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; D/s; sbm; bond; bdsm; susp; toys; cons; X

(story continues from )

Chapter 3 – Bob and Betsy’s First Bondage Encounter – part 1

On Saturday morning I woke up early in spite of myself; I was anxious! After a leisurely shower and breakfast, I putzed around for a couple of hours before I finally decided to get ready. I'd laid out my clothes the day before (showing my anxiety, it’s true), so the black nylon stockings and matching-black garter belt were right at hand. Over this I pulled a pair of blue panties, smiling momentarily about how one of my teen-years boyfriends had expressed surprise at the panties going over the garter belt. He just hadn't thought about whether I'd want to unfasten all that stuff just to get my underpants down to pee!

I had selected a favorite pushup bra out of my collection and slipped it on, noting happily how it displayed my breasts. A woman's undies and her body are both meant to be seen, contrary to what my mother said, and I was certainly planning on letting Bob see plenty of both of them!

Over this I slipped a black leather minidress, long enough to cover my panties but not much more, and stood in front of the mirror to lace it up. The lacing started at my belly-button and could have gone up to my collarbone, the precise degree of coverage being left to the wearer; when I was done, the lacing criss-crossed over a wedge of skin, exposing what little there was of the front of the bra and nicely framing my breasts. I liked the effect. I wanted to look almost as bold as I felt but not go too far.­ Really, I was planning on getting both naked and doing unspeakable things to each other and eventually getting my brains fucked out, but a girl needs some semblance of modesty and self-respect!

Finally, I pulled a pair of boots with three-inch heels up over my legs and walked out of the apartment complex with a wave to the gardener as he tried vainly not to stare. As I slid into the van, I deliberately allowed my skirt to slide far up over my left thigh for him. What the hell- if he appreciated my body, and I appreciated the compliment, why complicate things! I waved a friendly hand at him as I left and then concentrated on driving through Fremont and Union City to Bob's place.

He'd given me a street map with his route of choice indicated by a red felt-tip highlighter and explicit directions printed off his PC, apologizing sincerely for maybe insulting either my intelligence or my navigational ability (both of which I was rather proud of). He lived in a two-story frame-and-stucco house with an attached garage; I parked the van in the driveway alongside his MR2, checked my makeup (heavier and a bit more brazen than usual, on purpose), and walked up to the front door. He opened the door as I raised my finger to the button.

"Hello, Betsy! You look... exquisite!"

"Thanks, Bob... you look pretty good yourself." He was wearing black jeans and a T-shirt with the slogan "Outlaw Continental Drift!" and a portrait of somebody standing waist-deep in the ocean holding back a continent. (I’d already seen that Bob had a sense of humor when he said “don’t take life too seriously, you’ll never get out of it alive”, attributing the quote to that famous philosopher Bugs Bunny.) Bob looked me over carefully, imagining what lay under the leather; I knew he would see all of me soon enough, but I wanted to tantalize him. And I was looking him over the same way.

Bob welcomed me in with a hug and gave me what he called 'the fifty-cent tour' of the house. Kitchen, family room, a half bath (or powder room, depending on your gender) and living room were on the first floor; two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and his study (filled with a huge shelf of mainframe software books and a hacker’s delight computer, a collection of pieces connected by a tangled maze of cable) finished off the second floor.

We sat in the family room for a while, talking over iced tea. Then, after explaining that a broach was a metalworking tool for making non­circular holes, Bob broached The Subject. "Well, Betsy... shall we?"

I smiled at him. "Okay, Bob... after all, that's what brought us together."

"Okay... I've planned two sessions, one with me as Top, but I want to have you run the first session. I can understand that you might have some concerns for your safety."

"Thanks... I appreciate that. Now let's see 'the game room'!"

"You bet." Bob led me out into the garage-cum-dungeon of which I'd had a glimpse in his photographs. The two-car garage had the usual suburban stuf f- a washer, drier, a workbench, and handmade shelves on both walls cluttered with tools. It also had a Sears Craftsman electric hoist mounted on the ceiling next to the garage door opener, and his pillory (just the sight jump-started my twat) stood in the center of the floor.

I mentally shifted gears from Betsy the lonely friend to Betsy the Tough Bitch Dominatrix. Standing in the center of the dungeon with my legs apart and my hands on my hips (a position I knew let Bob have a clear view of my upper thighs under my tiny skirt) I addressed him sternly: "You! Slave! Get undressed for me! NOW!". .He obediently peeled out of his jeans and T-shirt. While he pullled off his shorts (moderate-cut bikinis). I watched him out of the corner of one eye as I made a quick survey of the available materials; he had an impressive array of bondage gear, some of it hand-made.

I selected and handed him a fifty-foot coil of 3/8" sisal rope. "Make yourself a bra. Use your imagination."

Slave Bob wove carefully, winding the rope seven times around his chest, three loops over and four under his tits in a figure-eight pattern. When he was done, I moved behind him, took the ends from his hands, and tied the rope in a snug square knot high on his back, leaving a foot or so free for other knots I had planned.

I reviewed his handiwork carefully. The rope pinched the meat of his chest into a compact but shapely pair of tits - about what I sported at sixteen but of course his were on a much broader chest. "Nice jugs, slave! They amuse me."

"Thank you, Mistress Betsy."

"Shut up."

I handed him another coil of rope. "Tie your legs for me, ankles to thighs." Slave Bob squatted down and maneuvered the rope carefully to tie his legs securely. When he finished, the bulge of his leg muscles kept his legs spread and his thick cock hung down heavily.

"Now hold your hands up behind your back so I can tie them for us."

He did so happily, although he now had to balance delicately on the balls of his feet. I supported him a little which I took the loose ends of the rope bra and tied his wrists crossed to the back of the bra, high on his back. This pulled the rope tighter across his tits, already bulging pinkly.

I reached out for the control switch which hung from the hoist and pressed it to lower its cable almost to the floor. I picked up the slip hook at the end of the cable and slipped it into the web of ropes where they crossed in his new cleavage. "That bra shapes your breasts nicely, missy!"

"Thank you, Mistress!"

"Shut up, scum slave."

I pressed the switch and held it until the slack was pulled out of the cable. and it pulled tight. I checked everything for safety's sake (I didn't want to damage my new friend/slave during our first game!) and then held the switch again until Slave Bob was lifted two feet from the floor. (Two feet is a long, long way when you're bound like that and you're very much aware that- if you fell- you would land, with no hands to break your fall, on your knee­caps. It would hurt an awful lot.) His whole weight now hung from the bra, pulling the rope tight around his rib cage, and the strain showed on his face. I ignored it, of course.

I was enjoying this, but I wanted to enjoy it even more. I picked up his shorts, balled them up, and forced the wad into his mouth as a gag. He made a few small noises, but the expression on his face conveyed only pleasure as I packed them firmly into his head.

I hiked up my short dress and pushed down my panties, just a scrap of nylon, and watched Slave Bob's longing eyes focus on my neatly-trimmed pubic hair. (If you’re planning on somebody seeing either your underwear or your pubic hair, you should keep both of them pretty!) I pulled them- my panties, not my pubic hair- down over his head, tugging until the waist­band was around his neck.

I had deliberately worn these panties for three days and masturbated in them four times! I made sure the most pungent and visibly-stained part of the crotch lay right over his nose before I wound a three-inch-wide ACE bandage around his head, packing his shorts deep in his mouth and binding the ensemble together. I heard Slave Bob happily sucking in air through his nose and the pussy juice and shit. I smiled.

I watched Slave Bob's bound body swaying at the end of the cable; his rigid erection was silent proof that he wasn't suffering too much. Although he could breathe through his mouth if he wished (I am careful about things like that), I could see him sucking in air through the sheer, damp crotch of my panties. I adjusted them to give him a fresh whiff, and he groaned in appreciation.

Slave Bob's tits were a dark pink. I amused myself by playing with them for a few minutes and discovered that I could make his even-darker-red cock dance up and down by twisting them. I squeezed the head of his cock to slow him down and then left him to look for more toys.

I found just what I wanted, the two-foot-by-two-inch double dong I had seen in one of his photos. While he watched with wide eyes through the leg holes of my panties, I stood in front of him with my legs spread wide, hiking my skirt up just a bit, I slowly twisted the outsized thing into myself and stroked it up and down in my churning pussy to lubricate it (and, I’ll admit, just for the feel-good of it) before I brought it over for Slave Bob to consider.

Slave Bob seemed a bit concerned at the prospect of having this admittedly-fearsome instrument sliding upwards through his bowels, but I didn't let that stop me. I knelt behind him and reached up to spread his cheeks apart with one hand while I slowly twisted the flared head into his ass with the other. Once the head spread him open and popped in (eliciting a groan behind Slave Bob's gag), the rest was easy- at least for me. I twisted and turned the toy until the heavy slab of rubber bottomed out in his belly. He groaned, but he was telling me with his rigid erection not to quit.

Leaving the dong protruding absurdly from his ass, I walked to the shelves, picked out a short length of cord, and tied a slip knot in one end. I pulled the loop snug around Slave Bob's balls, making his balls stand out. I slipped the cord through the hole in the end of a twelve-inch pipe wrench before I tied the cord's other end snugly in the notch just below the head of his prick. A twelve-inch pipe wrench is heavy and he groaned loudly, both with the pain and with the frustration my repeated handling of his cock was bringing.

Grabbing the shaft of the dong and giving it a playful twist, I stepped in front of Slave Bob; he was quite uncomfortable and seriously frustrated. I stroked the purplish head of his cock for a brief moment with a hand before I once again abandoned him to explore his camera bag, conveniently setting by the dungeon door.

I'm not heavy into cameras but I know my way around an SLR and had selected and put together the right components in just a minute or two. I took six leisurely pictures of my slave as he dangled helplessly, his thick cock throbbing while the too-thick dildo protruded from his ass like a second cock and his tits stood out prettily.

I knelt in front of my dangling slave Bob and seized the dildo protruding from his ass. Using it to maneuver him, I kissed the head of his cock gently and then blew lightly across it; he groaned loudly. I repeated the process, looking alternately into his eyes and at his cock as I continued ever-so-slowly giving him this lightest possible blowjob.

Many kisses and groans later, Slave Bob gave a muffled scream and came. I watched his cock spurt four heavy wads of scum across the floor but didn't touch him while he shuddered out his passion. The last drops of Slave Bob's cum dribbled to the floor and I watched until his erection faded. I waited for another couple of minutes before seizing the hoist control and lowering him to the floor to lie in the puddle of cum. I untied his wrists. "You may untie yourself, slave!"

Slave Bob wiggled his arms and I stood back while he loosened first his legs, then the hoist cable, then the rope bra. (The ropes had left an imprint that stayed visible until the next night.) Only then did he remove the wrench from his cock and balls. Finally, he unwound the ACE bandage from his head, pulled my panties slowly off his head, and removed his shorts from his mouth.

I knelt by him and embraced him. After a few warm minutes revived his dork, we went back into the house for a shower and some food.