THE MAN, WHO HAS been blindfolded with a black leather blindfold and gagged with a ball gag of the same colour, lies on his front on the bed in the empty room. He is naked apart from wrist and ankle cuffs, which are also of black leather. The man’s wrist cuffs have been attached together above his head and then tied to the central post of the bed head by a length of black bondage rope. His ankle cuffs, which are attached together too, have been tied to the central post at the end of the bed by another length of bondage rope. Rope has also been used to encircle the man’s thighs and calves. It has been drawn so tightly that it indents the flesh.
The man’s heart is thudding against his rib-cage fit to burst and he is trembling within his bonds with both fear and sexual excitement. He sees himself as he truly is: naked and helpless, unable to make out even a sliver of light because of his blindfold or to do anything more than utter incoherent noises from beneath his ball gag. Escape is impossible and he knows it. His captor can do whatever she likes to him. He is utterly powerless to resist her because of the restrictive bondage into which she has placed him. The door creaks open, startling the dense silence of the room, and making his erection throb. The man knows that she has come for him, that she is going to make him her slave.
His captor is a glacially beautiful brunette who is as sadistic as she looks. Her dark eyes are big but by no means soft. They are hard and cold. Her lips are sensuous and full but are as cruel as a harsh winter. She is naked like the man but could not be less helpless, more unfettered. She brandishes a heavy leather flogger in her hand as she advances purposefully towards him, her unbound breasts jiggling and swaying as she moves. The woman has a lush, sensual body and there is a sheen to her alabaster skin. She positively glows – with malice.
The man struggles futilely against his bonds, terrified and panic-stricken but also incredibly sexually aroused. The woman smiles sadistically and then lets out a hard little laugh. She enjoys the sight of the man’s struggling body as he strains against his restraints. It makes her bring the flogger down on his muscular backside all the more harshly. The bound man emits a muffled cry of pain from beneath his gag and a series of angry red welts appear on his naked flesh.
The next harsh blow lands, bringing another muffled cry from him, more angry welts. Then the flogger lands again. And again and again and again. The man starts to writhe and struggle under the severe lashings that the woman is inflicting on his body with such sadistic glee. He shrieks into his gag as the beating becomes ever more ferocious.
Mercifully, the woman stops whipping the bound man for a while in order to masturbate. She does this with great vigour, the sounds urgent and liquid. But when she returns to beating the man she does so with even more savagery. Agonizing pain is coursing through him now. And it is exquisite. He wallows in the pain, luxuriates in it, the sensation so intense that he knows he cannot hold out much longer, that he is close to climaxing …
Paul Cooper awoke with a start, breathing heavily, his heart pumping wildly away in his chest. He was covered in sweat and his dark hair was damp against his brow. Paul was having bizarre masochistic dreams like that one all the time nowadays. They were usually variations on the same theme: a beautiful dominant woman was holding him as her captive, and he was helplessly bound. She was sexually torturing him, which he found both agonizingly painful and ecstatically pleasurable.
One thing was certain, though. Paul had never had such an experience or anything like it in real life. No woman had ever held him captive, needless to say. Nothing remotely like that had ever happened to him. But neither had any woman ever blindfolded or gagged him or tied him up, or beaten him. Paul wanted one to do those things to him though. Oh God, how he wanted that to happen. He wanted it to happen to him over and over again, day after day, week after week, month after month…
As Paul lay where he was, flat on his stomach in bed, he was aware of the stiffness of his cock pressing against the rumpled sheet beneath him. His erection felt like it had when he’d woken from the dream. It was so engorged that it seemed likely to erupt at any moment with the strength of his sexual excitement.
Paul was aware of something else as well. He was naked apart from the leather wrist cuffs that were attached together in front of him and the ankle cuffs that were also attached together. He was blindfolded with a leather blindfold and gagged with a ball gag too. No bondage rope held him to the head and base of the bed, though, or tightly encircled his legs. The bondage rope and the beautiful nude dominatrix and the vicious beating she’d administered to his naked body had been figments of his fevered imagination, courtesy of the highly erotic masochistic dream from which he’d just awoken.
That dream had left Paul extremely aroused – that dream he had deliberately precipitated by going to bed in self-administered bondage. It was such a crazy thing to have done, part of him realised that. But it was hardly the first time he’d done it, far from it. He was certainly in no hurry to free himself either – apart, that is, from rolling onto his back, throwing aside the duvet, and unclipping with one of his thumbs the metal snap trigger attaching his leather wrist cuffs together. He carried out this last action, which he knew from previous experience could be tricky when blindfolded, with a well practised manoeuvre.
Paul allowed his right hand, now that it was free, to stray to his erection. He uttered a low groan from under his gag as he began to masturbate, pushing his fist up and down on himself. As he stroked and pulled his throbbing shaft, he tried to recapture the dream, tried to transform into reality the sadomasochistic fantasy his subconscious had conjured up so realistically. But he didn’t have much time because he was already close to orgasm, had been ever since he’d woken from the dream.
Paul felt waves of pleasure engulf him as he got ever closer to his climax. And the closer he got, his hand moving rhythmically over his hard cock, the more intensely he fantasized that it was the sadistic woman in the dream, his Mistress of Torment, who was making him feel this way. She it was who was holding him captive, holding him in bondage, subjecting him to incredible torment. She was showing him no mercy as she sexually tortured him, making him writhe helplessly in his bonds with pleasure and pain … and pleasure-pain. Then the pulse came and he began to shudder and shake without control as his orgasm took him. And as he climaxed – his cries of pleasure muffled by the ball gag – semen shot out of his aching cock in spurts, warm and silky.
Not long afterwards Paul, who remained blindfolded, gagged and with his ankles cuffed together, re-clipped his wrist cuffs one to the other in front of him with another well practised manoeuvre. He started to doze off almost immediately, to sleep, perchance to dream … a very particular kind of dream, all over again.