Hogtied and gagged

I noticed a car pull in the driveway, it was Robin, she was here for her appointment to get her car serviced. As the door opened I saw her legs slide out of the car, they looked golden brown in the morning sun. Standing next to the car, she straightened her dress over her nice tight ass. Walking in the office, she greeted me with her wide smile.

I looked in her eyes and said, “Good morning Robin, how are you today?”

Robin greeted replying, “I am doing fine and how are you Sir?”

She answered “Sir” to me; that was odd for her she always called me by name.

I took her keys from her and saw a gleam in her eyes that I never noticed before. Walking out to her car, I saw on the passenger seat a bondage magazine, laying open, it showed a woman hogtied gagged on the floor and a man holding a whip. That’s why she called me ‘Sir’, I had always fantasized of her tied up at my feet, while I flogged her ass. I wondered how she knew that I was into the BDSM lifestyle. Robin was a good customer and she always had me do her work, many times, I thought she just made excuses to come in the shop. I made no mention of the magazine in her car.

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I was led to the SUV again and shoved inside the back once more. He pulled a blindfold over my head and once more tied my ankles, then hogtied gagged me, to ensure I didn’t try to make any escape I imagine. We drove for a while, not sure how long maybe half an hour. Then finally I felt the SUV turn into someplace and park. I heard the door open and he pulled me by my shoulders and roughly picked me up and set me on the ground, still hogtied gagged.

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He returned and began to give my neglected breasts attention. He was sucking my left nipple and biting it gently at the same time caressing the rope at my crotch. The ropes separated the folds of my labia and my Clit was positioned between two strands. He massaged my little button, which was now engorged. I started to tremble, the Plug in my ass filled me violating me completely. I started trembling more as he was sucking my nipples even harder I began to shudder and moan. Shaking now, moaning uncontrollably, his hand over my mouth, “Ummph”, the ropes restricting my movement I began to buck my hips and grind my pelvis against the crotch ropes quicker and quicker until the shaking subsided. My heart, still pounding in my chest and my chest heaving, he said “shooosh that’s it baby cum”. As I lay there hogtied gagged he finished his beer and got up to leave. I said ” Your Not Going to Leave Me like this - Where are you going? - I want to be fucked- come back here and Fuck me! “. He came back over to the bed and said, ” I am going to the Lounge for a drink, And “Susan you talk too much” and from behind his back sprung a penis gag. He forced open my mouth as I was trying talk and the 4-inch silicone penis was inserted into my mouth and the leather base covered my mouth completely. He buckled the gag straps to the back of my neck. My nostrils flaring, cum was still leaking out of them as he left the room.

Here I lay naked and horny. hogtied gagged on the bed in a motel with a cock in my mouth and another one in my ass. The only time I came caused a lot off my own cum to coat my thighs and my ass with a sticky thick cream of sweat and cum. “What?” I hear movement in the hallway, someone in the next room laughs. “Female voice?” Doors are open and shut along the floor. I hear keys sliding into door locks and doors opening and closing. My heart is pounding again. A key slides into the lock of my room opens the door. It’s the cleaning ladies! They are in my room and still in the hallway speaking something in Spanish. I grab the Bedspread with my hands and rollover so I am covered. Now, I am freaking out. The one lady enters and says “oh my so sorry we leave”. And so they did.

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Grand opening. The Museum of Modern Art has once again proven its sure instinct for what will bring the hordes of the City’s fine people. The Human in Erotic Art – A Sensual Travel Through Centuries. Or, one might figure, the shrewd museum management has realized that also the posh crowd yearns for good ol’ porn. Regardless of which, even this exclusive, invitation-only advance showing has gathered a scrum; the crème de la crème of art critics, the cultural elite, corporate managers and high-ranked politicians as well as a number of odd fellows, who, like me, do not really know the reason for the invitation but out of vanity have donated fortunes to the museum.

Enters. The glimmer and heavy make-up of the classy crowd quickly fades as my senses are overwhelmed by the powerful impact of the masterpieces in front of me. The first impression has nothing to do with the scenes per se but a pandemonium of colours, lines, shadows and the tangible feeling of centuries of painters’ hard work and inspiration around me.

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Birthdays are special to me. Really special. It’s hard to imagine another occasion during the year that a person gets to stand up on a chair and say “Hey, what the fuck? This day is about me. Celebrate bitches!” with such complete and utter justification. Which is why, when the last 21 birthdays of mine sucked, I was more than a little put off. I remember doing everything I could to make sure family, friends, and strangers I passed on the street had the best birthday imaginable, and yet somehow, when it came to mine, something went wrong. I had to work, or I got sick, or I had a fight with a girlfriend or someone I loved forgot what day it was. And yet I kept putting more effort into birthdays every year, hoping that someone would finally get the hint and do the same thing back for me.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I spent my birthdays crying in my attic room, eating porridge and pretending the mice were my friends; quite the opposite. My friends usually got me a modest gift, my parents would give me a call to wish they could be there, and my girlfriend would take me out to an extravagant dinner to show me the menagerie of gifts she bought me. I suppose, really, it was selfish of me to want more. People are supposed to be happy with what they get, never ask for anything and be eternally grateful that someone remembered their birthday at all.

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I open the front door with my key and reach to turn on the light. Damn! The power must be out! What a happy ending to an otherwise shitty day. Nobody even remembered that it was my birthday and now this! I throw my purse onto the couch which I can barely see by the glow of the streetlamp and feel my way down the hallway to my bedroom.

As I step into the room, I hear a rustling noise. I try to squint into the darkness to see what it is, but before I can even make out anything, a hand clamps over my mouth and rough hands push me down onto the bed. “Just shut up and do what I say, bitch, or you’ll be sorry!” the gruff voice growls.

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He is a silver haired, attractive professional man with a smile and gentle nature that make him very comfortable to explore his needs in a power exchange situation. He has a very strong desire to be taken to the edge by a woman and so far has not reached the point he will say mercy. Will it be today, he does?

He was hogtied gagged on the bed with a blindfold waiting his time to enter the dungeon. Mistress Desiree had warmed his bottom with the new toys he had presented her with. Thin leather whips with a hand on one and another with two small square strips that give an interesting bite as they hit your skin. He also was introduced to the spikes of her red heels on his balls as well while he waited. I am glad it was he and not I.

Yes, very interesting bites to your skin as I experienced them prior on my breasts as they were bound tightly in ropes in my submissive session while he waited hogtied gagged. So yes, I was going to return the kindness on his testicles. I laughing assured him of this as we led him into the dungeon, for his eyes were covered. As we cut the tie wraps from his wrists to allow the blood flow to return briefly before fastening his arms in the leather restraints. I couldn’t resist pinching his nipples that were clamped in very tiny black clips. His soft moans as I did assured me that this was going to be fun. Chaining him to the wooden frame, removing the blindfold from his face for I wanted to see his facial expressions as I tortured him.

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He slipped the hood over my head and smoothed it down over my face. My heart was hammering. I was sure he could hear it beating from where he stood, his hands on my arms, as I fumbled with the fit to insure the breathing holes were directly under my nostrils. The leather smell was strong and I tasted it too, after the gag was seated between my tongue and the roof of my suddenly dry mouth. Not even a sliver of light showed beneath the blindfold which was held tautly in place by two strong snaps at my temples.

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She stood in the middle of the bedroom naked, with her hands on her head like she had been told to do. Her pulse quickened and her heart thumped in her chest as she watched him survey every angle of her naked body. Her rich, long brown hair hung down her back, her older and softer, but yet appealing body starting to come alive. She wasn’t what she was 20 years ago, but she wasn’t bad for almost 40. She did however, need to get her ass from in front of the computer at least an hour a day and get back to the gym, lose the rest of the weight and tone up.

She could see the wheels of deviation turning in his sick head. His sickness fascinated her. He could turn it on so very easily. It came so natural to him and it intrigued her. It was kind of like the fascination a girl has watching her man shave his face or mow the lawn. It was something that was totally manly that he did with such care and expertise. As a bonus, his sick mind also fueled her sickness and brought it to the surface where it belonged.

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It hadn’t been the best of flights and that was hard to do when the mode of travel was a private Lear, the weather conditions perfect, and the service excellent. After all, two attendants for two passengers rather guaranteed that no one had to wait. That flight was still on her mind as Clare paced around the guest suite, oblivious to the tropical breezes wafting through the open balcony doors and filling the room with scents of the sea and lush vegetation. Stomping was probably closer to the truth than pacing and she’d really like to be throwing things; big, sharp, pointed things but that wasn’t going to happen so she kept stomping. Stomping, pacing, what difference did it make; nothing was helping to calm her down. If anything, she was getting more riled by the minute and beginning to think that when she returned to LA (and that could not be soon enough), she was going to throttle Martin for the sick kind of practical joke that he’d played on her.

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