Saturday, December 24, 2011

Happy Holidays

I guess I was too optimistic and "You Will Submit" will not be done by the end of the year. Other things interfered and kept me from writing anything.
So, here is another chapter, as a holiday gift.


Chapter 4
Upper East Side

And so it continued: Every three or four weeks Paul would arrange a new encounter for me, most were outside the city, where the necessary privacy was more easily obtained; a few happened in town. In those cases, a gag was almost always required. Once, it was with a woman.
I appeared at the assigned address at the appointed time. It was in the spring, when life seems to rush and New Yorkers peek out of their winter coats and hats almost in disbelief that yes, winter is finally over. The penthouse condo, in a stately old building, on the Upper East side screams old money. I gave up on wearing fine underwear for this events, it always comes off right away. My tormentors do not want any interference in their access to my not so private parts. This day the weather was pleasantly mild so I skipped the undies altogether. I wore only the standard uniform of the New York woman: A little black dress.
I took a cab from our apartment on the Lower East Side. Paul gave me no special instructions so I enjoyed the relative luxury of a New York cab instead of a bus or subway. If I was going to get my ass creamed by rod, whip or flail, I might as well get there in style.
The yellow cab made its way up Park Avenue and there, just north of the Met Life building, it hit me. I wondered it took so long, fear and desire again blending in my belly. I should have been used to it by now but it always came as a surprise, a welcome one, like the surprise presents you get on your birthday. I left the cab and entered the building. A doorman asked my business. I replied with the apartment number and gave my name as Ellen. He called up and pointed out the elevator.
Alone in the elevator my legs turned to jelly. I leaned against the mirrored walls and held on to the bar to steady myself. Sweat glistened on my upper lip and beaded on my neck sliding, drop by drop, down my back. The elevator rushed up and my blood rushed down to the base of my spine, where all my nerves rose to the occasion. I felt the tightness in my tunnel and the moisture coating the inner membranes. The elevator stopped.
There were only two penthouse condos. I stood at the door and marshalled my courage. I rang the doorbell.
A stunningly beautiful, middle aged woman opened it. I remained transfixed, speechless, at the door for a few moments. I had never been with a woman before. She was blonde, her stylish haircut shorter than a bob but longer than a pageboy. Her black dress fitted her contours and reached mid thighs. I noticed she wore hose, an expensive one. Her high heeled shoes were of the best leather. She smiled at me.
"Do come in," she said.
I followed her to an almost empty room. A heavy wood armchair sat, alone, in the center of the hardwood floor.
"Please undress," she said.
She handed me a coat hanger.
I hung my dress from a hook at the back of the door and stepped off my pumps. She saw my naked body and smiled.
"You are ready," she said.
I did not answer, the throbbing in my belly and the tension in my female parts capturing all my attention. She gestured to the chair.
She tied my calves to the chair legs first with hemp rope. I began to shake. Two loops of rope fastened my midriff to the back of the chair. My arms, she tied at the elbows and wrists with more of the heavy hemp rope. I wondered what her plans were. I felt my oils seeping from my kitty and, looking down saw that it was oozing love juice on to the seat of the chair. She noticed where I was looking and, still smiling, flicked my clit with a manicured fingernail. A potent orgasm hit me, right then and there. With my eyes screwed shut, I thrashed, within the limits of my bonds, on the chair. What this meant was that I curled and uncurled my toes and fingers and shook my head about. Everything else was immobilized by her expert ties. Still, it was not enough for her. She slid a flat board behind the back of the chair which she fastened in place by throwing two loops of rope across my chest, one above and the second one below my breasts, drawing them tight and tying them behind the back of the chair. The coarse hemp rope scratched my skin with my least movement, like breathing, for instance.  Trussed like a chicken, or a sausage, I could only move my fingers and toes, and my head.
Now it was time for my head. Fortunately, she did not use hemp rope on my face. She used a long plastic tie. It went around my forehead and the board behind me.
Panic heaved in my chest and I feared I would throw up, which would be a challenge, since I couldn't move at all. Panting for breath I opened my mouth. She was ready for that taping my mouth open with adhesive tape. The tape caught my lips against my teeth and I tasted blood at the back of my mouth.
I squealed, more in discomfort than pain, my fear mixing with a new wave of arousal.
I wondered where would she whip me, there was not that much exposed skin, except for my breasts. She left the room.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably no more than a few minutes she returned bearing a black briefcase and a wheeled stool. She sat on the stool rolling to my side and opened the briefcase.
I began to scream before the first vise grip clamp hung from my nipples.
Then I came, hard. My muscles cramped along my spine, rippled on my thighs and convulsed on my arms. Unable to move, tied by the thick, strong rope, they threatened to rip themselves off their insertion on my bones, adding a new layer of agony to the massive orgasmic spasms that racked my bound body. Unable to move I came and came, squirting my juice on the chair, and beyond.
She sat, at my side, watching me until the last spasms subsided.
She removed the clamps from my nipples; they hadn't been there that long so it only hurt a bit more than when she put them on.
Then I saw the needles.
My screams, muffled by the tape on my mouth were not loud enough to bother anyone, it seemed, but were the best I could manage. They were also the only response I could make while she proceeded to cover all the surface of my breasts with hypodermic needles. She inserted each one slowly, deeply, until the hub was firmly planted on my flesh. When all the skin was covered by the colored plastic hubs she took longer and thicker ones and stuck them, just as deep, in my nipples.
I thought I was done screaming.
She dragged the chair tilted it against a wall. I was afraid I would fall backwards although, trussed as I was, there was no way I could hurt anything.
She picked up five needles and took one of my hands.
I was wrong.
I thought I was done when she freed me from the chair and removed the needles from under my toe and fingernails. I waited for her to remove them from my breasts but instead, she helped me to my feet and led me from the room.
On wobbly legs I followed her down a corridor to a bedroom. There, she removed her dress. Under it she wore an expensive looking, black lace bra, with matching garter and thong. She removed the thong but left her garter and hose on.
I joined her on the bed.
She hugged me to her chest. Unfortunately, she neglected to remove the needles from my breasts. I had to make love to her, kiss her, fondle her breasts as she squeezed mine, pins and all, until finally, she laid back on the bed, spreading her thighs, for me to lick at the center of her world. It was shaven and I lapped at the sweet nectar that oozed from the glistening slit. Unfortunately, she insisted that I do this lying down on my belly, my weight on my needle riddled breasts.
I lost count of how many times she spilled her juice in my mouth before she, sated, let me leave the house.
I had to remove the needles myself.