PRO FEMME DOMME 2
What the bloody hell is she talking about? Oh no, it seems she's remembered some tiny part of my fantasy 'play' and has taken it completely out of context.
"What are you doing in there instead of being at work?"
My loudmouth golfer is playing his part. As I half suspected, he actually has a reddish fat face and is fairly obese. Piss of you noisy creep! You've already ruined my session. What's that he's saying now?
"What a lovely creature in there."
If I wasn't behind bars, you'd find out this lovely creature had a good right hook, you asshole! Fuck them! I twist around as much as my situation will allow me and ignore them.
Never in a million years would a male figure in one of my fantasies. God, remember the last time I was involved with a male in a session. I was with a very pretty mistress in Birkenhead and because she advertised that her speciality was dealing with TVs', I was again in a TV fantasy mode and bound spread-eagled on a wooden cross. Similarly on that occasion, someone had banged on the front door and I could hear the mistress having an excitable conversation with some male. There was silence for some time and then the door opened and the mistress ushered in from what I could make out in the dim light, a male dressed up as a female and wearing a huge fur coat!
"I want to humiliate her," the mistress said, "go over and make love to her as she's bound, gagged and helpless."
The TV dutifully came over and started kissing me all over. Now I willingly accept quite a lot of pain and humiliation from an attractive female in most circumstances, but I was instantly revolted at being kissed by a male. Struggling to avoid his 'attentions' I actually tore my right arm free from the admittedly flimsy connections on the frame. Instinctively, I swung a punch and as luck would have it, connected with the jaw of the TV. He flew backwards, tripping over a whipping stool and landed on the floor the other side in a big furry heap and lay there not moving.
I'll never forget that moment; the shocked silence, the open-mouthed _expression on the face of the mistress as she looked from me to him, trying to make sense of what she had just witnessed. After what seemed ages, she got her wits together and helped the by now, piteously whining TV to his feet and ushered him out of the room.
Of course, I was rather concerned as to the reaction of the mistress when she returned, especially as although I was able to remove the gag, I was unable to release myself from the rest of the bondage, so I felt pretty vulnerable.
Amazingly, she was very conciliatory! And even more surprising, she very cleverly and expertly got the session going again and it ended up quite successful in the end.
It later turned out, over a cup of tea, that the jerk, even knowing she was with a client, had demanded a session there and then and as he was a regular and very 'generous' she felt obliged to indulge him and anyway, thought I would welcome a different type of humiliation. She was actually chuckling about it later, rather pleased that I'd thumped him as he was such a 'creep' and despite the fact his fantasies didn't involve it, she'd felt like doing that herself many times. Surely he won't be back? Oh yes, I'm his favourite mistress, he'll never leave me. I could see his point there, she was every subs dream mistress. I think I was rather lucky in Birkenhead.
It seems that Velda has sensed my hostility and is shooing blabbermouth back out and up the stairs. Surely she must release me soon? I mentioned about twenty minutes to half an hour locked in the cage in my letter, working on the principle that the session overall would be about two hours that's what I'd paid for. Already, it's been a lot longer than that and I'm getting somewhat mystified.
To most mistresses I've dealt with, time is money and they watch the clock fairly carefully. Right now, I wish I was with a clockwatcher because now my fantasy is ruined, I'm starting to feel wretched and uncomfortable in here. It's impossible to find a position where I can ease the increasingly painful condition I'm finding myself in.
The crouch position I'm in is pulling the elbow straps very tight, cutting off circulation to my hands and the steel handcuffs are really biting into my wrists now and my thumbs feel dead. My backside is on fire as the dildo feels as if it's splitting my arse in two. As I'm unable to straighten up, I am starting to ache in muscles I never knew were there, especially in my back and my thighs are starting to quiver with the strain of taking all my weight in this unnatural position. The strap pinioning my knees together however, which I was very pleased that Velda had applied, is now stopping me sinking down to ease my position as it bites into the flesh above my knees and effectively stops me trying to lower myself. I can't kick off my high heels as they fit very tight and anyway are secured with ankle straps. My ankle manacles are restricting other leg movements and being gagged so competently, which again, I was so pleased about is now working against me as I can't communicate with Velda. And as I was supposed to be constantly protesting about my plight while in the cage, I'm not sure she'd take any notice of whatever sounds came from my gagged mouth anyway. In the right circumstances, all this suffering would have been incredibly arousing, the thought that I'd been forced into this horrifying situation by a female, who knew perfectly well the hell she was putting me through - but having lost the plot today, it's all becoming just bloody painful.
I'm trying to work out how to attract Velda's attention when I hear the doorbell ring again. This time I can hear the caller is female, no, there's more than one. They chat for a time, then I hear movement and oh, no I hear high heels clattering down the steps to my prison. Jesus!..is she selling tickets?
I recognise them as soon as they enter the dungeon, their pictures have been in contact magazines for years advertising their services. They're two professional mistresses from the London area. What on earth are they doing here? This is really weird.
Velda, now in her element, becomes imperious and dominant as she motions to me in the cage.
"What would you do with that pathetic creature if you had her in your power?"
The other two dutifully come up with suggestions which are calculated to fill me with terror. Oh, Lord!
Do they really think I'm taking them seriously? At least for the moment, the activity is, to a degree, taking my mind off my current predicament. I study the two with interest. I'd never contacted either of these two for a session as looking at their photos, I didn't think I could relate to them in a session. Now I see them in the flesh, one of them might have possibilities, certainly not the other. They're dressed in their dominant mistress gear. They must have travelled like that I suppose it must be the uniform when dominatrixes visit other dominatrixes. I wonder if they called into a motorway café - they'd have caused a sensation if they had.
They finish mocking me and now Velda takes them on the tour she has recently given me. This must be their first visit. Suddenly the penny drops. Of coursenow I know why I'm getting this prolonged session. Velda, knowing they were arriving, obviously had no more clients booked today but it would give the dungeon more atmosphere were a slave to be imprisoned there during the tour. The cunning bitch and all that superb make-up and gear it wasn't really all for my benefit at all.
I watch the tour from my cage. I suppose it's experience, but it's amazing how quickly the visitors comprehend the working of the more bizarre and complicated pieces of equipment that I hadn't understood at all. Velda demonstrates the purposes of some of the equipment by climbing on them and assuming the position of the victim. The shape of one piece had mystified me until I saw Velda on it it forced her backside temptingly upward. The others murmur appreciatively, no doubt imagining the hundreds of bare bums to be thrashed in that position in the future.
The tour comes to an end and they make their way to the exit. I start struggling and trying to shake the steel bars at the same time making as much noise as the gag will allow.
They all turn and look at me.
"Look at her, begging for mercy," mocks Velda. She obviously tries to remember some part of my written fantasy.
"You'll stay in there until tomorrow morning when I'll be down to inflict some real pain!" So saying, she eases the other two out of the dungeon, closes the door and they go back up the stairs.
Bloody hell! What a mess I've landed myself in. I'm not worried about the tomorrow morning threat, but once they get gossiping up top, it might be ages before Velda remembers to come down to release me. I feel angry at Velda, but I also rationalise that I can hardly fully blame her for my predicament. A mistress used to whipping and torturing willing slaves would hardly consider my, by many masochists standard, mild discomfort a cause for concern. I'm sure many slaves do indeed spend all night in this cage, although probably not in my position and I imagine Velda feels she's doing me a great favour leaving me in here all this time.
But those thoughts don't help much as I really hurt now. If only I could sink down to my knees- but that blasted leather strap stops me trying that. And assuming that I'd only be in bondage a short time, I'd got Velda to ratchet the wrist and ankle manacles really tight and pinion my elbows well back as well. And what with my asking for a butt-plug when I was totally inexperienced in that area, all those decisions are now coming back to haunt me as all my bonds just bite in deeper and I feel I'll never be able to pass an effortless motion again. God this is a nightmare.
The playlet I'd sent to Velda involves my wife's lesbian friend buying photos from a rentboy involving me in the one and only homosexual experience I'd had in my life. Threatening to show them to my wife, I'd allowed her to humiliate me in my own home by dressing me up in my wife's lingerie, wig and make up and shoving a prick up my arse as a final act of contempt. When she'd suddenly produced the manacles and secured me with them, I didn't protest too much as I assumed it was some sort of harmless bondage game that she was getting up to. My anxiety and concern grows though as she forces me down to my basement and I see a cage that had never been there before. Now helpless, I'm gagged and forced into the diabolical device. Then the bombshell! My wife is in on it! While I was at work, she and her lesbian lover had soundproofed the basement, put the cage down here and had planned this scenario all along. I'm to be imprisoned down here while they live and party up top.
Those photos would mysteriously appear at my workplace and the word would go around I'd left suddenly because I had Aids. The lesbian's chilling last words as she leaves the basement: "In time we'll let it out you've died of Aids. Nobody will be bothered." She turns at the foot of the stairs, "After my visits every day, which I assure you, you won't look forward to, you'll come to feel that dying of Aids would be a lesser fate than the one I've got in store for you."
If only Velda had acted that scene out. Watching her very curvy, leather-clad body move to the steps, able to move at will and knowing that lovely creature had reduced me to the pathetically helpless, caged creature I could see in the mirror opposite with contemptible ease, I'd have been near having an orgasm within minutes of her leaving.
What a paradox though the contradiction between fantasy and reality. I've only been in this cage for, what? it must be getting on four hours - and I'm 'stir crazy' already. God, the thought of being like this permanently, as in my fantasy - I'd go stark raving mad in no time.
I relapse into a semi-conscious state of extreme discomfort and pain and wait. Eventually I here footsteps coming down the stairs. It must be Velda, how long has it been? I've no idea of time now - but I suddenly panic, what if she's only coming down to do a bit more ritual jeering and is not about to release me at all right now? I have an inspiration, I collapse as much as I can, Christ! every binding cuts further into my flesh and act totally unconscious as if I've passed out.
"Are you alright!"
A worried Velda rushes over, unlocks the cage and dragging me out, unbuckles my gag.
I come to quickly, "For Gods sake Velda, undo my elbow strap, my arms have gone dead!"
Oh, the relief as I'm able to stand upright and move my unpinioned arms. Velda seems quite mystified at my actions and obvious relief but now, although still manacled, I feel almost as free as a bird as I climb the steps, albeit with the ungainly action of a man with a red hot poker up his backside, to freedom.
Not for long though. When I reach the bedroom, Velda is searching for the keys of my manacles they were on the bed, but not now it seems they're lost! Christ! It's like having a session with a female Frank Spencer! What are my priorities right now. I desperately try to think rationally. Should I ask Velda to help tearing my foundation garments off while I'm still manacled - if I don't get this thing out of my backside very soon, it'll take surgery to remove it! Or is finding the keys more important. I notice that Velda has turned her attention to the floor, too hell with it, despite my predicament, I anxiously and clumsily join in.
I'm nervously recalling a mistress in Paddington who was reluctant to use my equipment. She had reason to be as when she tried to release the last client who had supplied his own handcuffs, his keys wouldn't open them. Irritated and, probably rightly, imagining that the fault was deliberate, she promptly marched him down to the local nick and got them to release him.
God, the thought of me appearing in a local police station dressed like thisfor Heaven's sake - let's find those keys!
"What are you two up to?" an amused voice comes from the door.
I look up, it's one of the London mistresses. She probably imagines this is one of the weirder components of our session.
"We're looking for the keys of his bloody hand and ankle cuffs," says Velda.
"Oh those, I noticed them on the bed when I was hanging up my coat. I put them in the jar over there on the table for safe-keeping." Phew!after that fright I'm going to keep a spare set hidden in my bag.
I must have lost three or four pints of sweat in that blasted cage and I accept Velda's offer of a shower. I'm walking to the bathroom with a towel around my middle, when the door opens and out walks a very attractive, exquisitely dressed female who smiles shyly at me.
Amazing, someone in this household who hasn't been down to gawk at me in the cage. I wouldn't have minded with her though, I'm sure I could have fitted a pretty girl derisively watching my vain struggling into my fantasy somewhere - one of the lesbian's other girlfriends maybe, come down to see her lover's handiwork? I grin back.
"Hello." She says in a deep bass voice.
Would you believe it! It's the TV! I should have known nothing is as it seems in this house today.
At last, I'm clean, dressed, packing my bag and supping a cold beer that Velda gave me. Look at those marks on my wrists! I hope they don't take too long to go. As for my rear, I just don't want to think about what'll happen back there when I sit down on the toilet tomorrow. All my TV fantasy clothes are soiled and soaking wet, reason enough that I never use a mistress's own outfits. I had originally packed them very carefully so as not to wrinkle the delicate fabric, now I just bundle them in and worry about cleaning them later.
The door opens and Velda walks in.
"Well now, was that alright? Did you enjoy that?"
She looks at me, her eyes wide and innocent, eagerly seeking approval. She's totally unaware that the session has been a minor disaster for me.
"Oh, it was great!" I even manage to sound convincing.
Hell, I've always been very philosophical about unhappy sessions. It's really my fault expecting any mistress to instinctively comprehend my complex fantasies. At times I wish I was one of those who was satisfied with bending over for a simple spanking session.
Velda shows me to the front door and thrusts a card into my hand.
"You've been really good, this is my private number, phone me anytime up to ten o'clock."
It's turned dark now and I walk to my car. I could do with a stiff drink.
P.S. Almost as if to confirm many submissives are over the cuckoo nest, I must confess I did visit Velda again, many times. I never found out how she found me, and said she was sorry I didn't have a the session she thought she'd provided and offered me a free one as compensation. In actual fact, despite the first 'disaster', I couldn't help but recognize the great potential of Velda with her looks and dungeon. I'd also felt a sort of relaxed affinity with Velda most of the time during our session and despite all that happened, I couldn't help admiring her unique personality. So I had been considering having another go anyway. As time went on, I also discovered that Velda was one of those rare creatures of great integrity that one could trust implicitly. So I suppose the moral of the story is: 'if at first you don't succeed'
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