My path to becoming Rita’s roommate in New York City started that night.

Her two subordinates had done an admirable job of binding me in a similar position to Christine, complemented by a black silk scarf tied tightly between my teeth that Rita herself had handed them.

My own flexibility served me well in the reverse prayer position and their use of a crotch rope came close to hitting the spot. I squirmed and struggled, trying to get that sweet deliverance of my own as Christine continued her own efforts.

I closed my eyes, leaned forward and could feel the crotch rope slipping into the place I needed amidst my soaked pussy when my determination paid off.

The cleave gag in my mouth was drenched with my saliva as I shook my head back and forth.

My head thrust up as I came, a steady moan coming from my gagged mouth, my hair matted with sweat.

“Excellent,” Rita said, suddenly beside me, her voice laced with seemingly sincere satisfaction. “Nina, it’s been somewhat rewarding to witness your skills and then your own reactions to being in bondage. A very potent combination.”

I nodded and opened my eyes looking up at Rita, the tight gag muffling my response. I relished the fabric bringing my cheeks back and in the afterglow of my orgasm, preferred not to be engaged in any discourse or dialogue.

“You know, Nina,” Rita continued, leaning closer, her breath warm on my neck, “I’ve been thinking of taking on a new roommate at my New York place. Someone who shares my passion for the lifestyle. I hear you’re on the way and already have a position secured. If you haven’t made arrangements yet, I think you’d be the perfect fit.”

It was a curious offer in a strange setting as I sat there bound and gagged. I was not surprised she knew of my upcoming plans; our circle of like-minded coeds who mixed bondage and discipline in their professional lives had a tight grapevine.

I shrugged my shoulders, the only response I could think of at the moment.

Rita smiled down at me, and I still found her hard to read. Calculated sadism was my first impression of her demeanor. An invitation to room together from her seemed likely to have a nuanced meaning and goals.

Benefiting Rita.

One of the sorority sisters came up to whisper to Rita, who looked over to the other side of the room.

“All right, I’ll be there in a second,” Rita told her cohort.

She looked back at me.

“Well, don’t go away. Think about what I said, and we’ll pick up when I get back.”

I wasn’t sure how long she was gone but Rita appeared and sat next to me on the bench. Silent for a moment, she crossed her long legs, her back straight and brushed my cheek with the back of her hand.

“Well, thought more about it?”

I gave a muffled response. While I might manage to garble a few legible words, I wanted to be clear in any discussion and rolled my eyes.

“Oh, of course, I guess we should ungag you.”

Rita called over one of her sorority sisters.

“For now,” she said with that sadistic smile I was getting to know so well and had the other girl loosen the scarf, so it hung around my neck.

“I’d love to, but I don’t want to be just a passive audience,” I replied, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. “I’ll be in a new city, and I want to explore my own kinks, and I’m not sure if you’re the type to let me take the reins if we’re under the same roof.”

“Don’t worry, I promise I won’t interfere with your own path or any of your passions. I expect the same from you. As a matter of fact, I don’t anticipate our social lives crossing too much. It’s just I’ll be glad to have a roomie that won’t be surprised to hear certain ‘unique’ noises coming from my room.”

“I’m not a sub.”

“I know you’re a switch. Whichever way you lean, I won’t interfere with your activities.”

I nodded but it was hard to tell how sincere she was.

“But, of course, if you’re ever in the mood to be tied up, gagged and perhaps witness some of my endeavors?” Rita added.

“Really? You strike me as the type that likes to delegate.”

That smile appeared again.

“Perhaps. I do like getting hands on at times,” she turned to her sorority sister and made a motion toward me, “but, I have to say having helpers is nice when appropriate.”

“I see, but I was won-mmphff!”

The other girl had re-inserted my gag at Rita’s direction, tightening it quite a bit. As I looked up at my new acquaintance, the cloth brought my lips back even more.

“Well, we’ll chat later, Nina. You can get my number from one of the girls.”

Rita had definitely caught me off guard and as I silently watched her leave, I could tell she enjoyed leaving me in my fettered state immensely. As I simmered in my bondage, thoroughly tied and strictly gagged, I considered her offer.

But I had to admit to myself as I sat there tightly bound and gagged, that her words sent a welcome shiver down my spine, and I found myself warming to the idea. Rooming with Rita might be both thrilling and full of surprises.

On a professional level, perhaps rooming with Rita would complement my new position at a bondage centric corporation.

**********

As a switch, rooming with a Domme in New York City, a casual observer would predict I would be partaking in my esoteric predilections in off hours, perhaps patronizing one of the exclusive dungeon clubs.

More evenings than not, I found myself in a vanilla mode after work. given that my firm had long ago incorporated bondage and discipline into its day to day corporate culture. It was not uncommon to see a staffer hopping down the hall, trussed up and gagged on their way to an evaluation, an analyst put on the spot to deliver a PowerPoint while sporting a two-inch ball gag, or a secretary secured to the St. Andrew’s Cross in our breakroom, available for free use Friday.

As a new employee, I soon had my share of constant rope and gag marks as my manager liked to keep her direct staff on their toes, literally.

My cubicle mate, Veronica, had seniority and if I was subject to any compulsory bondage during the workday, our manager, Laura, would often leave it to her for delegation. I found Veronica liked to keep me tied up and gagged even longer than required, having a literally captive audience as she regaled me with her own tales of intrigue and personal politics at the firm.

“You see, there was this one VP that would visit from the Miami office, and he was just so into my legs,” related Veronica with nostalgic glee.

“And he would always call in advance and I had to be sure to wear the tightest miniskirts when he was up here and when he arrived I had to be trussed up at my workstation, my legs tied together from top to bottom.”

She giggled and touched my own bound knees. My arms were bound behind me at the wrists and elbows, my legs tied together at the ankles, calves, above and below my knees and my thighs.

“But my boss made sure I still did my work so while he also liked to see me gagged when he came in, they did the usual compromise around here, and my hands were cuffed in front so I could still manage.”

I gave a muffled acknowledgement. Veronica had muzzled me with a leather bit gag between my lips. This afternoon’s bindings were in anticipation of a staff meeting and all the junior employees attending would be in complete bondage, with arms behinds our backs, legs hobbled and gagged.

Seen and not heard.

“I had so many rope marks, almost perpetual during that period. I am sure you can relate.”

I nodded again. During my recent probationary period, I had spent the majority of the day cuffed and gagged. With my wrists secured in front, I was still expected to do my work unless otherwise diverted and communicated with my boss and the other staff via text and email.

Or the occasional gag talk, which Veronica enjoyed.

“That’s a good gag for you, Nina,” Veronica said gently. “I like the way it pulls your lips back.”

I blushed a little. Veronica was a sexy and distracting cubicle mate, very fit, a professed gym rat who kept her dark hair short.

“I think you’ll go far here. Your work is very thorough and of course you look great in bondage. Always a plus in this company.”

“I’ll concur with that,” said Laura as she approached our cubicle.

The other members of our work group were coming down the hall. Two other employees were bound as I was. Alexa, a statuesque ebony beauty sported a bright red ball gag that contrasted beautifully with her café au-lait skin, as well as the red jute rope that brought her limbs together. Her toned leg muscles framed by a tight pale green mini skirt rippled as she hopped into view.

Alexa had the same tenure as me, so I expected her to be bound and gagged. We were out of our probationary periods but had the lowest seniority in our work group. I was surprised to see Brandi hopping behind her cubicle mate. She had more seniority than us and would bind and gag me in Veronica’s absence.

Brandi appeared to be tied even tighter than Alexa and me, who were supposed to be subject to strict and unforgiving bondage given our status. Her arms were secured behind her and her legs tied together, forcing her to make her way as best she could. Employees at her level were usually granted unsecured legs unless in a chair tie.

Her face was flushed; a black scarf had been tied tightly between her lips.

I raised my eyes at Laura as Veronica helped me to my feet. Our team leader was the tallest of our group, well over six feet in her heels, with porcelain skin framed by thick black hair, in a trim cut brushing the back of her neck.

“As you can see, Brandi is being held accountable for missing the deadline on the IPO proposal.”

“I’m surprised,” said Veronica. “I thought she was on track.”

Brandi started to shake her head back and forth, garbled protests filling the hall.

We were all shocked. In this corporation, protesting when gagged during summary bondage and discipline was not policy.

“Oh, that won’t do,” said Laura, very miffed. She turned to Veronica.

“You still have some two sided tape?”

“Absolutely,” said Veronica.

Alexa and I watched as Laura held Brandi in place by her shoulders and Veronica wrapped several layers of blue tape over Brandi’s cleave gag and her lips. Her bright red cheeks bulged over the tape, her eyes wide.

“You’re gagged for a reason, Brandi,” said Laura sternly. “I’ll do any explaining needed on this colossal screw up.”

“I’m surprised you went with a cleave gag today for her,” said Veronica.

“Another malfeasance on her part, she didn’t have an extra gag on hand that I could use for her, so I improvised. I’m glad you had the tape.”

“Sure. Was it really that bad?” Veronica asked as our group began to move down the hall. By this time, I had become adept at hopping in good order when my legs were tied. All the practice in my sorority days had paid off.

“I hope not,” replied Laura. “Even though she screwed up the baseline in the Quant for what was being presented to the principal underwriter, I called in a favor and negotiated a deal with the client.”

“A deal?”

“We’ll still be involved as a consultant on the roll out,” she turned toward Brandi and gave her a hard pinch on her bottom, eliciting a muffled start from her tightly gagged and wrapped lips.

“No, thanks to our supposed equity expert here. She’s going to need a few weeks of in-service remedial.”

I felt a little sympathy with Brandi. Our jobs were high pressure, and the company used the bondage and discipline as a tool to elicit due diligence and compliance with the high standards expected.

Just a little sympathy. I had found Brandi to by quite overly harsh when doling out bondage to myself and Alexa, even putting us in extended hogties when she was in charge. While Veronica was always cheerful when putting us into bondage, there was a callousness to Brandi that seemed out of place with the atmosphere Laura tried to provide for us.

It was a reminder to do my best as I continued to move on the career track.

Or hopped.

“You may be extra helpful with this new development, Nina.”

Laura’s pronouncement caught me off guard. Although she was on the outs right now, I was not at Brandi’s expertise yet in facilitating this type of acquisition.

“I think you can assist with the liaison team from our new partners.”

As I hopped into the conference room my face reddened as Rita beamed at me.

To be continued

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Rita and I went to different colleges but had attended some of the same sorority events and conventions.

The first time I met her to be formally introduced was at a vibrant house party in Boston. It was a Friday night, and a kink-themed party for our sorority’s local chapter was in full swing. I had spent the previous week in Maine as a way to celebrate accepting a job offer but there was always that itch I wanted to scratch and attending this party of like-minded sorority sisters would be a good release.

If truth be told, all our parties during my college career were kink themed and friendly with a healthy supply of rope, straps, gags, whips and crops. Plenty of custom devices were available from St. Andrew’s Crosses to spanking benches at all our chapter.

A few initiates sat on a bench in a large cage, bound and gagged, some in their panties, others in latex bikinis. All had their arms tied behind their backs, their legs tied together at the ankles, knees and thighs. They looked adorable simmering in their bondage and brought back memories of my own pledge period.

As I made my way through the crowded room, I spotted Rita, the epitome of elegance and dominance. Her tall, slender figure in a form-fitting purple latex dress, her long, red hair cascaded down her back, framing her piercing brown eyes.

I had known of Rita from the previous sorority events across the country, but we had never really interacted much. Tonight, I was drawn to her air of confidence and the way she commanded the room.

“Nina, right?” Rita’s voice cut through the music, her lips curling into a seductive smile. “I’ve seen you around at a few events. You’ve managed to accumulate a bit of a reputation, haven’t you?”

That was quite a complement given the BDSM centric activities in our mutual sorority.

“You must be Rita, queen of the Rostrum kinksters.” I teased, trying to match her boldness. While my college had its kinky contingent, her alma matter was the preeminent matriculation spot for someone wired for BDSM. It was probably the main reason people applied, rather than the academics.

“Some say that. I’m intrigued. I hear you’re quite the expert rigger.” She took a sip of her drink.

“For a switch,” she added with a slight hint of disdain in her voice. I came to learn later that her natural tone was always laced with sarcasm.

“I have my moments. Always eager to learn more. On both sides of the knots.”

At a fault, I was sincere in my response.

As we chatted, I couldn’t help but notice the way Rita’s eyes seemed to devour me, as if sizing me up for something. Her gaze lingered on my body, taking in my athletic build and the subtle hints of my own BDSM lifestyle, the lingering rope marks on my arms, the fading gag marks on my cheeks from a recent session.

“I wonder if you might grace us with your binding skills. We have a very limber initiate in the sorority. But I think her mouth is writing checks that her body might not be able to keep up with, that is when she isn’t gagged. But given all her bluster, I was thinking she would be a candidate for a reverse prayer tie.”

I raised my eyebrows. I had experienced such a tie myself and knew it could be strenuous even for the most flexible subjects and was not meant to be long lasting like a box tie.

We walked over to the communal cage and Rita pointed toward one of the bound and gagged initiates.

“Stand up slut.”

A fetching blonde hopped up to the bars. She had a well-muscled body that rippled under the tight ropes from her sorority sisters. A bright red ball gag was in her mouth, parting her lips to form a tantalizing ‘O’ and matching her latex bikini outfit.

“This is Christine. One reason I gagged her was she kept bragging about how flexible she is and her endurance in prolonged bondage.”

There was a muffled acknowledgement from Christine, who raised her eyebrows at both of us.

Most likely a brat. Trying to flirt with her eyes.

“I see, well there’s one way to find out.”

One of the other sorority sisters unlocked the cage and Christine hopped out.

We made our way to a section of the play area with an ample supply of rope, and I was pleased to see several coils of red jute rope already laid out. It was good quality and would provide a different tactile experience for our subject than the white cotton rope currently gracing her body.

Rita was definitely the queen bee of this chapter as I watched the deference the others gave her, with two of her sorority sisters freeing Chrisine from her current ropes and even another made sure Rita’s drink was filled, while a fourth cleared the immediate area for us. As condescending as she could be from my first impression, I saw the quiet authority over the others.

A small circle of onlookers gathered at a discreet distance, again with Rita’s consent.

While I was always glad to show off my rope skills, I also enjoyed the chance to observe what appeared to be a Head Mistress in the making.

“I want you to feel some true restraint, pledge,” Rita said to initiate, whose gag had remained firmly in place. I was impressed that Christine stood still, not rubbing her current rope marks but with her arms at her side, ready to be summarily bound again.

Bratty perhaps, but disciplined.

I guided Christine’s hands behind her back and upward, placing them between her shoulder blades, with the fingers of both hands straight, extended, and the palms of the hands touching each other.

With the wrists tied together, I gave her a pose similar to a traditional prayer position, but with the arms behind, rather than in front.

I was conscious that anyone, no matter how flexible, could find the position strenuous, but she seemed to adjust very well, her chin up and I detected the hint of a smile around her tight gag.

Without any prompting from Rita, but for my own enjoyment, I immobilized her arms further, with additional rope around the upper arms and torso, pressing her arms against the back.

She had cute breasts, and I took my time to fashion what I thought was a complimentary harness. I enjoyed her soft whimpers as my ropes covered her nipples.

I was impressed with how close I was able to bring her elbows together in this position. I knew I had to be careful to avoid dislocating her shoulders, but she was a natural and her moans of pleasure increased, which turned me on also.

“You must be quite the yoga student,” I whispered in her ear.

Her eyes still closed; she nodded. Her face reddened. I felt this position was stimulating her more than she was used to.

My guess was right, and I began to move my hand down to her crotch. I looked to Rita first to make sure I had the proper permissions before I went further.

After all, I was on her turf and since she knew my switch tendencies, I might end up bound and gagged soon.

But I wanted to play with Christine first.

Rita gave me that sadistic smile I would come to know so well and nodded.

With one hand pressed against Christine’s back, I continued to slowly move my other hand, and sliding it under her panties, found her waiting pussy.

Christine’s body arched against my touch, her back bending as she strained against the restraints. Her eyes were now wide as she looked directly at Rita. I could see the raw need in her gaze, the longing for release.

Rita remained calm, sipping her drink and nonchalantly engaging one of her sorority sisters in small talk.

I knew her indifference toward Christine was a calculated strategy.

“Are you ready, Christine?” I tried to make my voice a soft whisper in her ear as I softly massaged her pussy.

There was a quick nod.

“Not yet,” I said curtly and took my hand away.

There was a muffled grunt of surprise from Christine, and I took additional rope from the table. As I folded the long coil into a loop I gave my own slight smile at Rita.

‘You may want to cum now, sweetie, but let’s give you a little boost.”

I wrapped the coil around her waist and brought the ends down and ran them directly across her crotch. Normally, I would have tied them off at her wrist bonds, but given their position high on her shoulder blades, I tied them off on the lower part of her chest harness.

“There, sweetie, I hope I made it nice for you.”

I knew from personal experience a crotch rope could be enjoyable, frustrating or both.

Rita raised her glass approvingly at me.

I positioned Christine in a sitting position on a spanking bench.

Ignoring her garbled moans, I bound her legs together with several coils of rope at the ankles, above and below her knees and her thighs. I cinched up on the ropes as tight as I could and enjoyed the deep impressions the jute rope made into the flesh of her long and toned legs.

As I tied her sexy stems together, she writhed and wriggled, trying to get the crotch rope to hit her sweet spot.

“Simmer down, hot legs. You’ll get there eventually.”

I took a step back after finishing and asked one of the sorority sisters for a mineral water.

I said nothing as I looked back from Christine to Rita.

I had done what my hostess had asked and would let her continue to set the mood.

“Not too shabby, Nina,” said Rita. “Your reputation as a rigger is well deserved.”

“Thanks,” I said, detecting the undercurrent of another agenda in her smooth and dulcet tone.

Directed at me.

“So how would you fare, under that kind of tie?”

“I’ve had my moments. We should monitor Christine; those ties aren’t meant for long periods. At least the prayer tie. We can keep those long legs trussed up.”

Rita smiled and nodded to two of her underlings. A silent acknowledgment that they would look out for their sorority sister.

“Do you like crotch ropes yourself.”

“Absolutely.”

Rita snapped her fingers to two more of her minions and whispered in their ears.

“I told my girls to pay attention to your work. How would you feel about giving them a chance?”

I put my drink down, smiled at the two shapely coeds, turned around and put my hands behind my back.

To be continued

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This is one of a continuing series of remembrances recounting my early journeys into a milieu that in those days was colloquially referred to as the Bizarre or Leather scene. I have changed all names except when noted.

“You know I still can’t figure you out yet.” Samantha looked me over and blew a puff of smoke in my direction.

I nodded. My lips circled the large knot she had put in the scarf before gagging me and drool was soaking the fabric. I remember sitting like this in front of the Head Mistress at the dungeon in Chelsea where Samantha and I met and we both worked, Samantha as a Domme and me as a house switch.

Jean had been our boss and she had a way of knowing my number every which way and making sure I knew it.

Now I was tied down to a chair, gagged and my captor, who had not really paid much attention to me until we reconnected in DC, seemed sincerely interested, but at the same time bewildered by me.

“I mean you’re really into this stuff, but I don’t know, there’s something else.”

By this time, I felt comfortable enough around Samantha that if we were one on one I didn’t have to put on any pretense and if I wasn’t gagged, we could have talked about it. She made no move to remove my gag. I did enjoy the view. She was in full fetish gear, sitting across from me in another chair, her legs crossed.

Lady Lash to her customers.

She had brought me to a club in Baltimore that was known for New Wave music but had started a monthly fetish night. It was invite and referral only and the owner reached out to a few professionals to help liven things, also encouraging them to bring subs. It was another chance for Samantha aka Lady Lash to expand her customer base. Bringing me gave her the additional opportunity to show potential clients what they could be put through or give them ideas as the watched me put through my paces.

She stood up and dropped her cigarette ash on my shoulder. With the heavy amount of sweat on my skin, it fell away harmlessly. None of this had been for the benefit for an audience. The attendees had already gotten their money’s worth as Samantha bound, gagged, and spanked me with a riding crop before putting me in the chair in order to lash my breasts with a small flogger.

The only ones left were the pros like Samanthas and the club staff. The waitresses were incredibly sexy in sheer stockings, leotards and high heels. I had enjoyed flirting with my eyes with a few that were receptive and seemed interested in the activities. For others, Bondage Night was another promotion the boss came up with.

She reached down and loosened the knots around my wrists.

“You can do the rest. I’m going change up. See you in the parking lot.”

As I untied myself and went to the back to retrieve my street clothes, I thought of Samantha’s curiosity and chalked it up as she was someone who had come to the scene from being an adult provider of the traditional vanilla services. She had transitioned into this world of leather, psycho drama and fetishes when we met in New York.

The peculiarities and desires of clients were always varied.

• · Clients who liked to be tied up, but it absolutely had to be leather straps not white cotton rope.

• · Or vice versa.

• · A client who wanted a sub gagged with a white scarf between their lips, but the lips had to have the brightest red lipstick.

• · Clients who liked to be spanked, but by a partner in a teacher’s outfit while others wanted to be spanked by a corporate executive.

• · Clients who needed exact phrases whispered to them as they were being punished, bringing back a deep memory, perhaps their first time in this world.

Managing the different whims of customers could be taxing. Sometimes a professional couldn’t help but absorb some of the anxieties of their customers.

I wasn’t going to respond unless she brought it up again, but I felt her puzzlement was probably because I had come to this so young and did a lot of it in my private life.

As it was, I did not demand much for my participation in the scripted scenes I was contracted for with the various pros I knew, other than what reflected a fair per diem.

We met up in the parking lot. I lit her cigarette. We had come in separate cars.

“So, I wanted to give this to you.”

She gave me one of the business cards she handed out at events like this. An address was written on the back.

“It’s a New Year’s Eve party. There will be people from the scene, but also others. I’m not going as a work event, just to unwind, relax. It’s been a good year. They’ll have a playroom. I thought you might be interested. Come as yourself, so to speak.”

“I will. Thanks Samantha. The last few months of this year have been great for me too, meeting you and everything. Looking forward to 1984.”

She kissed me on the cheek, “Be good.”

‘Come as yourself, so to speak’.

It was a brisk night. The party was in a spacious house in the Brookland neighborhood, near Catholic University. It also had a large yard and the hosts had set up fireworks in the back, a District of Columbia tradition. I wore a light blue blouse, black jeans and black boots.

Samantha was already there. As I expected, she was fashionable as opposed to fetish tonight. She wore designer blue jeans tucked into brown boots that came to her calves and a black turtleneck which she filled out very nicely. She was holding court with a mix of people and seemed at ease.

Samantha introduced me to her group and it struck me it was the first time she had done so outside of a role play or scene. However, after a few minutes of small talk, I could not help myself and leaned forward to whisper into Samantha’s ear.

“So, where’s the playroom?”

She smiled and gave me the info. She was going to stay where she was for now, but encouraged me, understanding it was my natural inclination. I wasn’t going to be at a party with a play room and at least not watch a scene.

There was a large, finished basement. Orange wall to wall carpeting greeted me at the bottom of the stairs.

For this basement play room, the home owners had incorporated the support beams that came up from the floor. While wider than the traditional posts, like the one I had spent so many nights bound to in New York during my initial indoctrination, they still provided a good prop for a scene. The owners had taken the time to put black upholstery around these. It gave them a suitable feel for institutional fantasies.

A naked woman in her thirties was bound in rope, her back to one of the beams, hands together over her head. Her legs were neatly tied together the way I was used to: ankles, above and below the knees and my favorite, the thighs. She seemed into it, receiving a few gropes of her breasts from the hand of an older Mistress, in her late forties. I learned later she was the hostess.

She turned to the mix of guests watching. Some were in fetish gear, others dressed more vanilla. Some had the big hair I saw in my mainstream corporate gigs, while there was also a mix of New Wave and punk styles. Lots of miniskirts.

“Any suggestions?”

“Gag that little tease!” It was a female voice off to the other side. I couldn’t make out who said it.

“That’s right. All good bondage bunnies need a gag.” She took a red ball gag from a side table, brought her victim’s head forward and strapped it in. “Happy New Year, you little slut.”

I could tell the sub was happy, even if she was playing it up. The ropes were tight and she struggled valiantly. I could tell she worked out, as her muscles rippled under her bindings.

“I bet that brings back memories.”

It was a familiar voice and the last one I expected to hear.

Jean.

The Head Mistress at the Chelsea dungeon. We hadn’t exactly parted on bad terms, but one reason I left was I felt she was too smothering and controlling, even for a professional Domme, trying to push me into being more and more of a live in slave to her. I left on cordial but terse terms.

We exchanged air kisses.

She was dressed in a playroom appropriate outfit but not too severe, a combination of vinyl and leather, Her black leather miniskirt came to her upper thighs showing off her long lean legs encased in black hose. Her waist was cinched by a black vinyl corset over a red blouse. Her brunette hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“I didn’t know you came to DC much,” was the only thing I could think of saying.

“Felt like doing something different this year and checking in on some old clients.”

Her gaze was a penetrating as always. Her voice smooth and inscrutable as if we were two suburban ladies making small talk at a Tupperware party.

I looked over at a male preparing a female partner for a spanking bench, face down, each wrist and ankle strapped to a leg of the bench.

“Brings back memories,” said Jean as she followed my gaze. “Good times.”

“It was Jean, I appreciate everything you taught me,” I said sincerely.

She said nothing but moved closer to the couple at the spanking bench.

The female was squirming happily, her miniskirt had been hiked up to show off her bare rear end, but she was trying to move it even more up toward her hips before her partner began spanking her. She could have asked him to pull it up more, but I knew from experience it was fun to struggle and see what resulted.

He reached down and placed a bit gag between her teeth, buckling it tightly. She looked back at us, the hard leather pulling her cheeks back, a hint of smile around the gag.

“I told you that you’d probably need something to bite down on tonight.”

There was a muffled response from the young woman and he chuckled.

Jean looked at him quizzically.

“Something from ‘The Story of O’. Sir Stephen occasionally likes to draw blood, which brings out the gags.”

“Oh, is that your intent tonight?” asked Jean.

“No, but I will make her bring in the New Year bright red.”

I smiled but said nothing, enjoying the interplay between the couple. They were in their early thirties and I could sense the tenderness, even as he prepared to spank her.

Using the belt from his jeans, his strokes began slow, at an irregular pace as if he was teasing her. There was not a regular rhythm, he seemed to enjoy throwing off her anticipation.

Jean began to offer unsolicited advice.

He had been doing everything correct but at one point a stroke went below the back thighs, on an area close to the back of the knees.

The male shot a look at Jean. I wasn’t sure what level of experience they were but I could tell this was not the first time they had engaged with each other.

I took a step back. Before it was a term, I was ‘triggered’ by Jean’s unsolicited advice to the couple. It reminded me of her somewhat pedantic approach to our day to day life in New York. It was as if all interactions brought forth a correction or advisement even when it was not a priority.

“Just trying to be safe,” said Jean.

The man nodded and paused.

He turned back toward the bench and stepped closer. Rather than resume spanking her with the belt, he began to stroke her with his right hand, reaching under her as she arched her torso as best she could. Both of them closed their eyes. She was moaning and mmphffing into the gag and his head was tilted up toward the ceiling. He had put the belt down and undid his jeans, quickly grasping his cock with his other hand.

I watched as both their faces turned crimson, matching the shade on her buttocks. He didn’t say anything but she was using her best gag talk to tell him to come.

As he shot his load across her red streaked hips, her body arched and stayed up as she screamed into her gag, biting down on the leather bit. Sweat dripped from her forehead, combined with the drool from her gagged lips.

Eventually, she laid the side of her head on the saliva-soaked bench, moaning softy and looking up at her partner.

Jean said nothing, just a raised eyebrow that I always remembered accompanied her ‘constructive criticism’.

She stayed silent. Even though I didn’t know the couple, I was glad. Her counsel made sense at her own dungeon or if someone asked but these two seemed to be doing okay and were happy.

I was about to make an excuse to go get another drink when an unfamiliar voice addressed me.

“Hey, I’ve seen you before,” a woman my age said.

She was tall, with purple hair, a red blouse and a very short black vinyl miniskirt. She was part of a trio of attractive women.

“We saw you at that Halloween party in Adams Morgan. Props. That was some tight bondage you were in,” the purple haired woman said.

“We liked that scene over there on the pole,” the second girl pointed. She was shorter than me by about half a foot, cute with curly brunette hair. She wore a one piece little black dress with black seamed stockings. “We were watching and insisted that poor girl get gagged.”

“Oh right, I heard that.”

I saw that the young woman on the beam had cum.

A lot of that going around.

The hostess quietly advised the onlookers she would stay in place for a while.

“Let’s see if we can make her go off again the same time as the fireworks,” she said.

As the guests broke away into smaller groups, I saw that the third woman in the trio had on two-inch heels on a pair of pumps, so she came to my exact height at five eight. Her hair was black with an enticing streak of silver grey combed back from her left temple. She wore it in a wavy, medium length. We locked eyes and I started to melt. They were a deep blue, and she wore blue eye shadow. Ironically, it looked like the shade I had used from time to time.

“Happy New Year. The last time we saw you, you were going through a few predicaments.”

“Happy New Year. Right, Alice told me that night you guys left her place to find trouble in Georgetown.”

She laughed. “It turned out to be dull night, but you were definitely one of the highlights.”

I blushed. “Thanks, I like your hair. I remember at Alice’s you were wearing it a little differently. Actually I remember the three of you had like 1940s style. Film noir I guess for Halloween.”

“We do that sometimes when we go out together. We’ve even wore the same type of wig to an event. But for New Year’s I thought I’d let it down and have my grey out.”

“Oh, I like it, it’s really attractive.”

She smiled and beckoned me to follow them. The girl with the streaked hair and her companions started to move with me toward an area of the basement that had a love seat, a beanie bag and a few chairs.

The purple haired girl attempted to go on the beanie bag but immediately regretted it as her skirt began to hike up and the vinyl slid against the plastic. I put a hand out and helped her back up.

“Thanks. But I’m such a boob. I’ve spilled this wine all over my top. I’d better take care of this now.”

“I’ll go with you,” the brunette volunteered.

In short order, the girl with the streaked hair and I were the only ones there. She sat on the loveseat and I sat directly across from her in one of the chairs.

“So we’ve got some mutual friends.” I offered.

“Absolutely,” she agreed. “It’s amazing the people you can meet through the classifieds. Or just hanging around.” She smiled.

“Have you been to Alice and Clark’s place in Dupont much?” I asked.

“Yes, a few times.”

“I liked that scene I did with Alice, Clark, the girl on the cross and the dildo gag.

“Oh my god, I gave that to her, the gag.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it was Valentine’s Day. When I gave it to her, I was hinting, well I mean I was telling her to use it on her husband. I don’t think she has. Or if she has, he’ll never admit it. And he would buy her extra jewelry to maintain her silence.”

“Well, it was just right, I enjoyed it.”

“Thanks. So you obviously don’t mind doing public scenes.”

“Not at all.” I started to tell her about some of my other adventures in both New York and the DC area. I mentioned Stephanie under her Lady Lash pseudonym as she had been at the Halloween party.

I debated whether or not to mention Jean but shared one of my New York adventures.

“Yes, I spent most of last summer with a Head Mistress. I went back a little while aog to help out with a collaring ceremony that had a live audience.”

“At a small theatre? In the Village?”

“That’s the one.”

“Oh my God that was you! You were getting whipped on stage while the other girl earned her collar. That was the first group thing I attended. So I’ve seen a lot of you.”

I blushed.

“Let’s see, then I’ve seen you twice before tonight, that time at the ceremony with the mask thing and at Alice’s party. You were, well-dressed very differently.” She paused and looked me over. “Man, you looked good in that short dress. A real damsel in distress.”

‘Yes, role models for me always ended up bound and gagged.”

Her eyes sparkled. I sat before her fully clothed and unbound. Her legs were crossed and the slit in her mini skirt let her display a healthy amount of smooth, muscular thigh. I took the liberty of looking her up and down from head to toe. There was no retribution just a friendly smile. I noticed something and took a chance.

“You look great, but I bet you don’t have lipstick on.”

“That’s right,” she seemed impressed and leaned forward conspiratorially. “What’s my secret?”

“A little dab of Vaseline.”

“How’d you know, is that what you use?” She said teasingly,

“Just a hunch.”

“She paused and looked around as the party continued with people off in their separate scenes. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it, trust?”

Her hair shimmered in the low lights. The grey streak caught the light in an intriguing way. I speculated she spritzed her hair with a little water before venturing out but quit while I was ahead and didn’t mention it. Her outfit was a perfect amalgam of punk and fetish. She wore a wide belt around her waist. A nice mix of items hung from it, gags, a small paddle, a flogger, a coil of red rope.

“I see you are ready for anything; that’s a real utility belt.”

“Absolutely.” She had a beautiful, wide smile. “So, what is your story?”

I left the basement with my new friend. We decided not to stay for the fireworks. The plan was to answer all her questions as best I could while tied up and gagged at her place. Once I heard she liked gag talk, I had a good feeling it would be a nice interrogation to usher in the New Year.

As we walked out the main level, I saw Jean and Samantha catching up.

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Caley did her best to keep up the composure of a smooth and assured Domme as she escorted the quartet of lovely, tight bodied and willing harlots into the basement play area.

It was quite commanding and potent having the original three servers bound, gagged and under her control, compounded by the fresh and lithe addition.

Caley enjoyed watching the new girl from the rear, long legs striding on a sexy pair of heels, hands cuffed behind her and the black silk scarf knotted tightly at the back of her neck and bringing her lips back.

Caitlin’s eyes were wide as she watched the other girls move quietly and smoothly into Lillian’s well equipped dungeon for the first time.

A safe space for all.

But did she believe that yet, wondered Caley.

Caley was also trying to convince herself she could be the right Domme at this point in time for all of these willing bondage babes.

Her directive from Lillian was to take a little time with preparation and then present the young volunteer in a demonstrative position for the guests.

Lillian suggested some ideas that echoed the book being presented tonight.

Meanwhile, while the bondagettes prepared, this would give Lillian the chance for the authors of the book to discuss their work, which included several photos of the young lady, Caitlin, who was about to be put into bondage in a pleasing way for the guests.

How thoughtful of them to bring one of their models.

Caley had been prepared and psyched to deal with the trio of subs, but this was an added delight.

The budding Domme un-cuffed Polly, handed her the padlock key and told her to give herself and the others a break from their restraints and gags, reminding Polly that Lillian kept a mini fridge with mineral water and fruit if they needed to get their energy levels up.

Caley directed the newcomer to sit down on a spanking bench. Her eyes were bright and given she had just been cuffed and gagged at a social gathering and taken away by someone she just met, Caitlin seemed to be in good spirits.

Caley took off the scarf gag.

“So, have you had much experience regarding BDSM? I understand you’re featured in the book.”

Caley’s tone was a little friendlier than when she gagged her, but still neutral.

“My parts in the book is mostly glamour modeling, with a little bondage. My friend Darla though really knows her way with knots and has put me through my paces. It mostly started off in private, but she has taken me to a lot of clubs, sometimes with another girlfriend.”

She added the last part with a little lilt in her voice. Caley sensed she and her companion had some interesting bondage adventures.

“Really?”

“I met her through a mutual friend and they both enjoyed taking me out - just like you had them,” she nodded toward the other girls. “Arms behind my back, a tight gag in my mouth. Usually on a leash.”

Caley paused about to ask a personal question but Caitlin beat her to it.

“She pimps me out quite a bit,” she said smiling.

Caitlin was going to fit in with this crew.

Caley replaced Caitlin’s gag, ensuring the silk scarf was even tighter this time as Caley wanted to continue to establish dominance and control.

“Okay, don’t go away.”

Caley gave her what she hoped was a wicked smile and went to confer with the other girls.

She wasn’t sure of all the content in the book but Lillian’s directive of a “presentation” had given her an idea.

Polly was the most experienced of the trio and immediately concurred with Caley’s suggestion. The other two were enthusiastic as it was new to them.

Caley returned to Caitlin and waited a moment until she addressed her. She enjoyed looking down on her as Caitlin looked up, looking so cute and expectantly.

“Well, slut. Have you had much experience with suspension?”

***********

In this case, Caley decided not to do the tying herself but let the cohort of servers do the rigging under her direction, with Polly being the lead helper.

Caley liked sexy delegation and it would allow her to be careful with the new girl as they approached their goal carefully.

Caley could tell right away that for Polly this was old hat. She wasn’t sure how much experience Joyce had on topping but knew this would be a new type of scene for her sexy roommate, Caley.

After releasing Caitlin’s hands, the first thing they did was have her strip, including her shoes. She had not worn stockings or pantyhose, her smooth tan skin gleamed seductively in the play area.

Caley had her turn around before all the other women as they appraised her body.

Her bra and panties were egg shell blue, complementing the mini dress.

“Before we get started, would you like to be nude when we bring you out, or stay that way?”

Caitlin immediately doffed her bra and panties. Her breasts fit in with the rest of the crew, round and firm. Caley was impressed by her overall tan. She was well muscled, definitely a gym rat like.

She would look good in the ropes.

Caley took her by the arm to where the other girls waited.

Caitlin’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the three smiling bondagettes, Janet and Joyce holding coils of red jute rope and Polly holding an eight foot bamboo pole.

At previous events, they had used bamboo to supplement a variety of Shibari rigging. Caley felt one long piece would be appropriate for what she had in mind.

Caley took time with her directions, using a deliberate approach, having Caitlin stand with her back to the other girls, her hands at her side.

The first step was a rope harness to be used for anchor points. Polly leaned the bamboo pole against the wall and began to wind the rope around Caitlin’s torso and upper chest while her wrists and arms remained unencumbered for now.

Caitlin was placed face down on the floor and her hands then brought behind her back. While Joyce bound her arms together in a perpendicular folding position with each wrist tied to the opposite elbow, Polly and Janet began to work on her legs.

Rather than a standard column leg tie, Caley had them do a frog tie, with her calves folded against and bound to her thighs. Polly added one extra tie to bring her ankles closer together.

Caitlin had a lot of flexibility and Caley made sure to continually check if the position was causing too much stress.

Caitlin gave a happy nod and once she was immobilized, Polly took the pole and positioned it through the ankle and arm ties. More ropes were added to the harness and her leg ties to secure her to the pole and distribute her weight.

“Let’s give it a try, ladies.”

Polly and Janet gave the pole a lift and Caitlin easily rose, face down, hanging fetchingly from the pole. The girls had her just about at Caley’s crotch level.

“Oh this is going to be fun,” I said.

Caley waited until the rigging was finished before changing out Caitlin’s gag again. Caley was curious about the dynamics and relationships, not to mention her role as one of the models in the book and had been amused by her muffled chatter through the cleave gag while the other girls bound her.

The book authors, who were professional photographers in their vanilla lives, had noticed her at one of the clubs she and Darla frequented. Caitlin explained that in the beginning of their relationship, Darla liked to leave her for long periods of time bound and gagged in the cages next to the public play areas and this sometimes prompted new connections.

Caley decided to add a pump gag and squeezed the balloon, enjoying her whimpers as it filled her mouth. She had chosen that for both variety and to give the guests something to participate with and manipulate.

A black silk scarf was added as a blindfold. Caley liked the idea of Caitlin being displayed and not realizing the patrons’ reactions until someone, either Lillian, Darla or Caley removed it.

There was also a visual connection in Caley’s mind with Darla’s outfit of black vinyl and the Gaucho hat.

Caley still wanted the other girls restrained in some way while they assisted and bound their cuffs in front so they could still hold the pole.

She couldn’t imagine them serving in Lillian’s house without gags, especially given the gag marks on along their faces from tonight’s servitude. Janet, especially with deep red marks criss crossing her cheeks from the severe bit gag.

Caley gave all three a tight white silk scarf between their lips.

Cleave gags, reminiscent of their host’s days as a professional damsel in distress.

As they returned to the drawing room, there was an appreciative murmur and scattered applause from the guests.

Lillian nodded to Caley and turned to Darla.

“Darla, what do you think?”

Caitlin’s companion kept her face still as she stood up, showing no reaction and walked over to her friend, bound, gagged and displayed for all to see.

She took off the blindfold and looked down at the young tart.

“Well, I see you’re showing off again.”

Caitlin’s eyes grew wide and she shook her head in mock protest. The girls kept the pole steady.

Darla pumped the dangling rubber ball from Caitlin’s gag and smiled for the first time as her friend whimpered.

She turned to Caley.

“I think it’s perfect. It would be nice if I could take her home this way.”

Everyone chuckled.

“Or perhaps, you could come over sometime and continue to keep her in her place.”

Lillan smiled at me.

“Absolutely, I look forward to it,” Caley replied. She tried to keep up the stern Domme persona, but a little of the bubbly and happy coed was there too.

Epilogue: Lillian Reflects and Provides a Few Accents

As much as Lillian liked the sounds of leather slapping against skin, muffled moans and constant orgasms filling her home, it was also quiet times like this that gave her joy and pause. A light summer breeze was pleasantly steady through the open windows, with a gauze like covering of clouds slowly moving over the moon.

She had doffed her jodhpurs and boots, opting for a short silk robe over a black bra and panties. No seamed stockings or high heels like her pin up days. A comfortable pair of slippers filled out her outfit as she moved along the stone floor of the lowest level of her mansion.

While she had left Polly bound and gagged in her bed, she wanted to make a quick check on the rest of her overnight visitors.

Polly could wait, with some anticipation to show Lillian exactly how much she had learned during her internship before she moved on to New York and a potential acting career.

With her own expected diversions to practice in the Big Apple.

As Lillian headed downstairs, her hands felt naked without her riding crop.

Not that type of nocturnal visit.

Ordinarily, Lillian would have followed her usual habits of entertaining and enjoyed all the comforts and delights of all the tasty and ripe young women under her roof at once and in her bedroom, but she wanted to continue the mentoring of Caley with allowing her some time with Janet and Joyce and avoid any pressure or direct oversight. It would also give Lillian a chance for a special one on one bon voyage to Polly, who had been so stalwart and dependable, not only in their bondage fun and games but at the local theatre program Lillian managed during the summer.

Her curiosity was driven by a desire to see how Caley fared with the other nubile and young guests.

So far, Caley had exceeded expectations and played her role as a Domme with a sexy vigor. She had a lot of potential. While Lillain hoped one day to have her trussed up and muzzled in her bed again, Lillian knew Caley enjoyed exploring this new side of power exchange.

And Lillian was happy to provide submissive and curious subjects for her journey.

Entering the large basement playroom and dungeon, Lillain was delighted at the juxtaposition of co ed slumber party and bondage sleep over.

As expected Janet and Joyce were bound. They were in sitting positions on the floor, side by side, their arms tied behind their backs, their long legs also bound tightly together with several rope ties from ankle to thigh, their gorgeous gams flat on the floor in front of them.

They were conversing softly as their scarf gags now hung around their necks.

They looked up at Lillian as she entered, with sweet smiles but they grew quiet.

Janet nodded her head in the direction behind them.

Both of their backs were adjacent to a plush leather sofa upon which Caley was sleeping. She looked adorable, still in the outfit she had worn tonight, her riding crop lightly grasped.

Lillian noticed that while the two bound beauties were extensively tied, Caley had not given them crotch ropes yet.

Perhaps she had drifted off before finishing.

Lillian kept her voice low.

“Well, you seem to have worn your Mistress out tonight? Proud of yourself?”

Janet blushed a little. Lillain could tell she had strong feelings for her roommate.

“We’ve been having fun,” Joyce quietly replied.

“I see your gags are off. Did Caley give you a break or are you two misbehaving?” Lillian inquired, using her own stern Dominant tone.

They looked at each other for a moment before Joyce responded.

“We got them off ourselves.”

“We had to work together, just using our teeth and pulling them off each other”, said Janet.

“We go to the same college, but had never met, so we were kind of catching up in a way,” offered Joyce.

Lillain walked closer to the pair of tied up vixens.

“I see, well as much as you want to plan out more adventures for next semester, you were gagged by Caley for a reason, so we’ll need to rectify that.”

As Lillian walked behind them, they kept their eyes front.

Learning already.

Lillian slipped off her panties. She would have been taking them off for Polly anyway and grabbed an extra pair amongst the supplies on the shelves that was used for stuffing the mouths of deserving subs.

Kneeling down behind Janet first, Lillian cupped her chin with one hand and pulled her jaw quickly down.

“Open up, sweetie.”

As soon as her lips parted, Lillian thrust her black panties in her mouth.

She retied the scarf between her lips, ensuring it was tight enough that their best efforts would not loosen it.

After re-gagging Joyce with the other panties and scarf, cinching up on the knot as she had with Janet, Lillain retrieved two additional scarves from the shelves. She tied these gags over their lips, also as tight and firmly as she could muster.

Lillian stood in front of the lovely pair of bound and gagged coeds.

The two coeds looked so cute and absolutely appetizing, with the abundance of rope work restraining them and the layered gags pressing down into their cheeks. It reminded Lillian of playing a damsel in distress for the camera and all those “special” after parties with the kinky friends of her salad days.

Lillian was glad they hadn’t been blindfolded, their bright, mischievous eyes as tantalizing as their bondage.

Lillian kept up her Dominant pose and mode, putting her hands on her hips and looking down.

“Well, I’m going to have return to my own chambers and make sure Polly receives her own proper discipline.”

Lillian paused.

So adorable in their bondage, a pair of wide and bright eyes the only way to communicate.

“You two teases have a choice. Simmer there until morning, or you can make your best attempt through the stuffing and gags to wake up your Mistress, who I’m sure will have more punishments in mind for you.”

Lillian kneeled down and pushed her hand over Janet’s crotch. She was dripping wet. Lillian slowly rubbed her fingers over Janet’s gagged face.

They glanced at each other briefly and Lillian made her way back upstairs.

As she left the room, the proud Mistress of the manor could hear the escalating volume of muffled moans and garbled gag talk from the bondagettes in the basement.

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When entering the sitting room with the attendees, the bound and gagged servers were not presented with any flourish and the underlying chatter continued, punctuated by the clink of cocktail glasses.

Joyce didn’t know if they were just used to tied up women mingling at events, were presenting a blasé and hip attitude as seasoned scenesters or a combination of both reactions.

As the gagged trio continued into the large area, under Caley’s tutelage, Joyce blushed a little. This was her first time being presented bound and gagged before strangers, let alone nude and she wondered if the flush on her face matched the matching streaks of color across her hips and the back of her thighs.

Caley had taken a deliberate approach in what she termed “our visual preparation” as she wielded the riding crop on their willing flesh.

Joyce agreed from what she could see of Polly and Janet, that the red glow from the strikes of the riding crop was pleasing.

There were about ten people present. Mostly women. One man was standing by a low table with an array of books, and Joyce thought he might be one of the authors. Polly had mentioned he and his partner were promoting their own photos, and she wondered if the trio of bondagettes would pique their interest.

Joyce felt she would not be averse to exploring bondage modeling and her thoughts began to drift to being exposed to a wide audience.

She was startled and gave out a quick moan, feeling a sharp smack on her rear end. Joyce turned to see Lillian, twirling her riding crop, smiling deliciously.

“Well, I see that nice butt of yours has a good little glow. Good job, Caley.”

Caley gave a slight bow to the hostess. Although not equals, Caley felt a twinge of internal satisfaction and accomplishment so far.

The bound and gagged serving girls followed Caley to the kitchen area past the sitting room.

“Janet and Joyce, remember not to drool on your trays,” admonished Caley, punctuating her directive with quick snaps on their ass cheeks with her crop.

Both Janet and Joyce garbled out affirmative responses. Caley still had a twinkle in her eye as she supervised the trio, but since finishing the preparation in the basement, her speech tone had begun to grow firmer and deliberate.

Almost icy.

It was such a turn on. Joyce felt herself moisten and her ingrained exhibitionism compounded her horniness.

Polly nodded her head, with her own garbled discourse emanating from the panel gag which was preventing any of her saliva from escaping.

Joyce savored the tight feel of the ball gag between her lips as well as enjoying observing Janet’s extremely tight bit gag pulling back her cheeks in a fetching way.

After being supplied with appetizers and small plates for their trays, the wenches sallied forth to serve any willing guests.

However, all three knew they we were there more for eye candy than providing any sustenance.

Joyce enjoyed the glances and looks and there were a few discrete brushes of the hand from some of patrons along with a few not so discrete pinches. No one tried to tamper with the locks on their restraints.

The redheaded diner waitress was flattered and turned on by the attention, compounded by a helplessness and servitude before people she had never met before.

While much of the attendees were closer to Lillian’s age, Joyce saw one female about her age.

She was very sexy, standing next to a very pretty woman in her mid-forties. Both had tight bodies and long legs.

As Joyce circulated, she suddenly felt a little drop in her stomach as she realized the younger woman was also a local like Joyce and they had attended school together.

Seeing Caitlin in this setting was something of a shock. While she had always been somewhat of a tease growing up, prone to wear hot pants and miniskirts around the boys, Joyce didn’t know her preferences leaned toward the ladies.

Unless this was just an opportunity.

There had always been a mercenary streak in how she approached relationships. Very transactional.

While Joyce thought she had reached that point where she had outgrown any contemplation or lingering thoughts on high school or “mean girl” drama, Caitlin had always made an impression. Very ruthless in affairs of the heart.

Joyce lost track of her since going off to college. She remembered someone making an aside that she had gone on to art school or perhaps a fashion design program.

She didn’t recognize her companion as anyone local. Perhaps a kinky patron from her journey out of their home valley?

Whether it was for true love or something leading toward the commercial, Joyce was a little trepidatious. The attendees for the book launch were from out of town, but Lillian occasionally hosted likeminded local friends from the area.

As Joyce embraced the doors that Lillian had opened for her, she didn’t mind being presented publicly at one of Lillian’s events, but at this early stage of her relationship to Lillian and her stable, it could be that any local guests might be uncomfortable if Joyce recognized them, which would not be fair to those kinksters. Both Lillian and Joyce felt there would be plenty of time for her to be gradually introduced into the local scene at events like this.

At the same time, Joyce was enjoying the prospect of becoming recognized as a “local” sub.

While Caitlin might be happy to proclaim her hometown roots in front of strangers, Joyce was just a little reticent upon seeing her in the flesh.

However, bound and gagged already, Joyce guessed it was now or never.

She wondered if Caitlin was willing to put herself in public bondage. Joyce’s usual delight at the prospect of seeing any fellow chick tied up was somewhat tempered as they had not seen each other for a few years.

Caitlin’s eyes narrowed at Joyce as she sipped a cocktail.

“Hi, Joyce. Cat got your tongue?”

While Joyce and Caitlin looked one another over, Lillian had sidled up to Janet as she circulated. The bound and gagged platinum blonde was taking her time as a serving wench with her hands-free tray, making sure she bent over slowly when the situation arose, allowing for any patrons to have long glances and even copping a few quick feels.

Which was often.

Lillian paused for a moment and smiled. If anything, Janet hoped she approved of her approach and style toward Lillian’s guests. More than as server, but less an outright flirt. After learning more about her background and experience in the beginnings of the fetish scene, while maintaining a career as an actress, Janet wanted to earn her respect.

Although Janet wouldn’t mind comparing her skill with the riding crop to what she had experienced from Caley.

“Enjoying yourself, Janet?”

She nodded and gave an affirmative moan. The bit gag felt good, pulling her cheeks back like a pony bridle. The more resistance Janet gave to her leather restraints and the more she tried to speak into the gag, the harder her nipples became under the leather harness straps, the moister her pussy felt.

Lillian seemed to sense her building pleasure.

“Well, you just be patient and there will be some more fun and games, tonight.”

She bent in a little closer and lowered her voice.

“I’ve already been getting some inquiries about you from some of my guests. Maybe not for anything in particular tonight, but down the road it’s always good to make contacts.”

Janet murmured and nodded as Lillain rubbed the edge of her crop against the back of her left thigh and punctuated her advice with a quick sharp slap to Janet’s ass cheek.

Janet closed her eyes and moaned in pleasure. She felt a hand on her elbow and opened her eyes to find Caley at my side.

“Come with me, somebody wants to meet you.”

Lillian smiled and nodded her head.

“See what I mean, sweetie. Be good.”

Caley escorted her roommate over to one of Lillian’s lush antique settees adorned by a female couple. Joyce was standing to the side as the couple looked her over.

The older of the two was sitting down and appeared to be in her mid-forties, very handsome with short brunette hair. She had an intelligent face and a slight smile as if she was more amused than titillated by the event.

She wore the type of wide brimmed Gaucho hat that Janet felts only certain females could pull off, and she certainly did. It looked good on her.

Her companion stood next to her and was probably Janet’s age, thick black curls hung around her face in what seemed to be a deliberately tousled effect. Her only make up that Janet could tell was lipstick and a trace of eye shadow.

Both had excellent bodies, shown off by tight mini dresses. The older woman in a black vinyl one piece, accented by fish net stockings and black leather ankle boots.

Her companion wore a flowered sun dress, light blue and short. It was not extremely low cut but displayed a healthy amount of cleavage. She was saying something to Joyce when the older woman looked at Janet and raised her glass.

“My compliments to Lillian. She really knows how to collect fetching ornaments for an event.”

She patted the space next to her and motioned for her friend to sit down.

The younger half of the couple struck Janet as a real flirt, but in a good way. She made sure her dress had even hiked up a good deal more up her shapely thighs when she sat down and crossed her smooth tan stems. A slight smile crossed her lips as she looked back and forth between Janet and Joyce. Janet could sense she liked attention.

She would fit in well with their little crew.

Without looking at her, her older companion casually reached over and began stroking the younger woman’s thigh.

Janet thought it was sweet and noticed the absence of any rope marks on the buxom young woman’s body.

Hopefully that would be remedied.

The older woman gave the girl’s thigh a hard squeeze and then motioned toward Caley. Janet couldn’t hear what they said but Caley in turn motioned toward Polly to come over.

Caley had Polly stand in front of the couple and then slowly turn around as she outlined the restraints.

“Of course, we have a variety of gags. I’ll let you choose what’s appropriate for your pet.”

The older woman nodded her head. She looked over at the younger woman and shook her head in mock dismay.

“You do talk too much.”

The younger woman blushed slightly and looked down.

“I’ll let you pick,” she said to Caley. “As long as it’s tight and reminds her of her place.”

“So glad you’ll get a chance to know some of our subs a little better,” Caley said to the younger woman, motioning for her to get up.

As the soon to be bound and gagged tart stood up, she smiled at Joyce.

“Oh, I know this one, we went to school together.”

Janet looked over at Joyce, who shrugged her shoulders, the trace of a smile around her ball gag.

The girls in this town really liked bondage, Janet thought as she watched Caley deftly cuff the young lady’s hands behind her back.

“So, what’s your name?” Caley asked her.

“Cai-mmphff!”

The girl shook her head back and forth as Caley tied a black silk scarf tightly between her lips.

“Nobody cares,” Caley said matter of factly as Lillian and her guests looked on approvingly.

“Come on, sluts.”

The trio of bondagettes and their new recruit all followed Caley outside the drawing room.

To be continued

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For additional background on Caitlin & Darla check out this excerpt from the archives:

Caley felt satisfaction and relief to be back in Lillian’s home. Notwithstanding, this was first time she had entered it under her own power, without being bound and gagged, either hopping in on trussed up legs or by collar and lead with her arms secured behind her back and a ball gag in her mouth. Her own mentor-Mistress of long standing had pimped Caley out quite frequently to Lillian and her guests during her undergraduate days and she was grateful for all she learned as an object of their intense scenarios. But, as Caley moved away to attend graduate school, her switch tendencies began to allow a dormant Dominant side to emerge.

Then she met Janet.

It was interesting how a random choice of roommates can lead to something very potent. Upon Caley’s arrival, Janet glimpsed her extra bag of goodies and there was an instant spark with the realization they were kindred spirits regarding the art of restraint.

Janet was more than willing to let Caley practice extensive rope techniques on her. As an avid yoga student, she was extremely flexible and loved to struggle for hours. Observing her exuberance while tied up, gagged and straining against her bonds was a very dynamic power exchange and intoxicating.

If anything it was wanting to please her and provide her with a robust bondage and discipline experience on her first visit to Caley’s old stomping grounds as an undergrad that pushed her to try and assert herself as a Dominant at the earlier event. In Caley’s excitement she had only expressed her intent in advance to a fellow sub at the mansion, with who Caley had always had a tense rivalry. That frenemy had not passed on Caley’s plan to their mutual Mistress and Caley had summarily been tied up and gagged as soon as she got out of the car, joining Janet as a trussed up bondage slut for the festivities.

It still had been a fulfilling weekend, and even though Caley subbed throughout, even being disciplined by Janet during one choreographed scene, she opted to make the best of the experience and take mental notes on the dynamics at play. As it turned out, her rival sub, Eleanor had eventually run afoul of the rules herself by playing with someone’s male sub without permission and she had soon been dealt a tight and unyielding hand of rope bondage and strict muzzling for the rest of the weekend.

Caley’s last sight of her rival as she left the estate was squirming back and forth in a tight hogtie on a cold stone floor, shooting Caley an evil look above her ball gag.

Caley had occasionally worked parties at Lillian’s and other venues as a serving girl and had helped neophytes get through their first time as bound and gagged serving wenches. Lillian had advised Caley this would be the sexy redhead, Joyce’s first time in a formal setting, but she had been an eager volunteer, having done well in private play with Lillian and her “students” as well as having some decent experience in her own romantic life as a rope bunny.

Caley arrived at Lillian’s home just in time to observe Polly put the finishing touches on the lithe bound beauties, their smooth skin only marred by extensive rope marks which Polly shared.

This weekend had also been Caley’s first time meeting Polly, who would be one of the bound servers and appeared to be doing a a very efficient job at preparing her coworkers. As a theatre major interning under Lillian for the local summer stock, she was adept at role play.

“Very nice,” Caley said as she tugged lightly on the red head’s straps. “You must be Joyce.”

She gave a slight nod and a muffled hello.

Caley reached up and flicked the tiny padlock on her ball gag’s buckle.

“Well, I see that Lillian is serious about keeping you quiet.”

She looked over to her roommate. Janet was equally fetching with a very tight bit gag between her teeth.

“And in your place.” Caley gave her roommate a wicked smile. This was the first time they had seen each other since Caley had been placed in unexpected bondage at the previous party.

At least unexpected for Caley.

Caley held no grudge toward her sexy cohort and looked forward to a rewarding event for the attendees and the staff.

As always, she was impressed by the degree of preparation Lillian had organized and could tell Polly was an adept protege.

Caley looked forward to putting this new acquaintance in bondage and eyed the restraints, harnesses and gags lining the shelves.

“And how are you doing, Polly?” Caley asked with all sincerity. “That was a great party, wasn’t it.”

They had not gotten a chance to speak at the other party as unsurprisingly, both been gagged.

“Definitely. Myself and the other interns heard a lot about you from Lillian this summer. You made quite an impression.”

Polly smiled, admiring Caley’s outfit. She had worn a one piece vinyl mini dress. Very short as another thing Janet and Caley shared was a predilection for showing off their legs.

Even with rope marks. The ones incurred from the previous play party had just begun to fade way.

“So, are you ready?” Caley replied with a little hint of flirtation in her voice. It was apparent she was going to enjoy being in charge tonight.

Polly nodded as Caley motioned for her to turn around and began to strap her harness on, taking her time as her hands and fingers explored Polly’s upper body.

“Nice of you to have your outfit all ready, Polly,” Caley said with a soft chuckle, stroking Polly’s bare back as the harness was in place and moving her hands along Polly’s perfectly round ass.

Polly turned her head toward Caley with a broad smile.

“Of course, I shed my clothes early because it’s always best practice to put yourself in someone’s else’s place. I couldn’t imagine not being trussed up after I got these two lovelies ready.”

“If you mean to be bound, gagged, naked and exposed to strangers, then you are on the right track,” Caley replied as she brought Polly’s hands behind her back and connected the wrist cuffs, soon followed by the elbow cuffs.

“Now what kind of gag should you have?”

Polly said nothing but raised her eyebrows in response, still looking at Caley with her head turned. As an experienced sub she knew any suggestion on her part might not end up in line with her desire if the Domme, in this case Caley, decided to exercise a contrary prerogative.

“I see you gave Joyce a nice bright red ball gag and Janet has a nifty bit gag, which I believe she has been wearing since arriving. So how should you be muzzled?”

She scanned Lillian’s shelf of gags and trainers. A gag needed to silence her so it would need to be more than a silk scarf, but not something that would obscure all of her beautiful face, especially those striking green eyes.

Polly had kept her gaze on Caley as she contemplated the choices.

“Now, eyes front, my slut.”

Polly complied and looked back toward her companions who stood next to each other amidst Lillian’s extensive play area.

Both Joyce and Janet looked adorable, standing ready in their bondage, moving their heads slightly back and forth as they murmured their own muffled flirtations to Polly.

“Well, Polly, I see you have a little fan club there. Good thing, we’re keeping you three bound and gagged for this event. We don’t want things to get out of hand.”

Caley smiled at Janet and Joyce.

“Yet.”

Caley made her choice and slipped a narrow black leather panel gag over her lips, inserting its firm plug in her mouth and over her tongue.

“There, that is a nice variety of muzzled tarts. Everyone ready for the final touch?”

There was a pleasing chorus of muffled and garbled responses. Polly was nodding her head but Janet and Joyce looked a little confused. Apparently, Polly had not told them there was one more part of their ensembles.

“Well, the idea is for you to be objectified as serving wenches at the party. So, since you’re hands are restrained as they should be for your own good, you won’t be able to hold any trays unless you have a little help.”

From her frequent visits to Lillian’s home, Caley was familiar with the layout of her play areas and personal dungeons, including how various implements were stocked on the shelves.

The final touch would be serving trays designed to be hands free.

Soon, Caley had three wooden trays out and made sure their thin chains were unencumbered. A leather strap connected to the back edge of the tray was used to go around each server’s waist and the chains were connected from eye hooks on the tray to rings on their collars.

No were hands needed to hold it and the chains were easily adjustable.

Caley was no stranger to wearing this type of tray and at parties the assortments of helpers had helped each other in getting ready.

While an straightforward procedure, Caley drew it out with her three charges, verbalizing a gradual shift from bondage buddy to strict Mistress Supervisor.

“Now, you three bitches better keep in line,” she said, adjusting Polly’s tray.

To her roommate Janet, she gave a firm look and admonished, “And you had better not embarrass me , slut, or I’ll put your ass out on the street.”

Janet’s eyes widened and she responded with more pleasing soft moans.

“There is more than one way for your ass to make the rent.”

After making sure the bound and gagged trio was suitably outfitted for service, she took a riding crop off the shelf, pausing a few moments and lightly tapping it into her palm, gazing up and down at her three charges.

Janet looked directly at Caley, the hint of a smile beneath the tight bit gag. Caley sensed a sincere empathy from her sexy roomie, who understood that Caley had wanted so much to have the opportunity to top in a public setting,

Polly stood at an impeccable posture and looked straight ahead, not making eye contact. A well versed veteran of such scenes as currently played out and were to come.

Joyce moved her head back and forth slightly, her eyes narrowing. Caley wondered if she might go into sub space while standing up.

As fetching as that sounded, it would have to be remedied for this immediate moment.

Caley pointed the riding crop at Janet and Joyce.

“Now, this shouldn’t be an issue for Polly as she has a panel gag, but you two teases need to make sure your drool doesn’t hit the tray, unless you want punishment.

Caley slapped the crop across Joyce’s thigh. She stared directly at Caley, then averted her gaze, eyes down. She was a quick study.

“Now turn around, all three of you.”

Caley took in their bare behinds, Joyce and Polly had rear ends to envy as much as the familiar ass of Janet, all three the delectable result of various fitness programs and exercise routines.

“Spread ‘em.” Caley commanded.

They shifted their legs apart, still facing the wall.

A redhead, a blond and a brunette in bondage tonight.

At Caley’s bidding but for the benefit of her dear friend Lillian.

If Lillian trusted her have these luscious sluts in her charge for this event, she would do her best.

It was time to give the guests a little example of what the disciplinary arts could highlight on a supple and willing female body (and mind).

To be continued

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For a taste of how Joyce met Lillian and Polly prior to this event check out:

The feel of the leather against Joyce’s skin was both exotic and comforting as her sexy female companion, also naked, buckled the straps of the harness in place. It was also exciting on a lot of levels. While being bound in Lillian’s elegant mansion was not a new experience, being restrained in leather was a novelty. Up till now, most of the bondage games with her host and mentor had involved tight ropes and strict gags.

This was a much more formal affair.

Joyce was one of three bondage chicks working as a house sub at Lillian’s event. She was sponsoring a book party with fetish overtones for some acquaintances who had published a coffee table tome of erotic photos.

While Joyce never shied away from showing a lot of skin in her regular waitress job, filling out a tank top and cut off shorts quite nicely at the local diner, this would be the first time she was baring all in a BDSM setting as a bound and muzzled server.

Knowing Lillian and her large circle of friends that shared the same kinky, exotic and esoteric interests, they always liked an excuse to indulge in their predilections with the company of willing and flexible young coeds and Joyce would not be surprised at some level of attention.

“How’s that feel?” Her new colleague Polly asked after buckling the wide strap around her waist and tugging on the connecting straps that circled Joyce’s shoulders and crisscrossed her bare breasts.

Joyce had only met Polly two days before but felt very comfortable in her presence. She had a mischievous nature and seemed to enjoy chatting just as much as when a bandana was tied between her lips or if the two were curled up with a wine glass without any restraints. They spent last night bound and gagged side by side in one of the basement playrooms in Lillian’s large home. A kinky slumber party with gag talk and crotch ropes, squirming on the floor and rubbing against each other to mutual delight and Lillian’s amusement.

“Good. What’s next?”

“Bring your hands behind your back.”

Joyce happily complied and the leather wrists cuffs they both wore as part of their ensemble were quickly secured together. Joyce smiled as the familiar and welcome feeling of restraint and helplessness came over her, complemented by the click of the matching elbow cuffs being brought together.

As the redhead’s nipples tingled while Polly brought her elbows flush, Joyce’s breasts thrust forward, rubbing closer against the harness straps, Lillian entered the room.

She was dressed in her favorite outfit of beige riding jodhpurs over her still shapely legs, tucked into fitted custom black leather boots. A tight white linen blouse demonstrated the ample bosom that had brought her a lot of attention as a pin up and television actress in her youth. Her slim waist accented by a wide black leather belt was a tribute to her long standing devotion to physical fitness and her love of the outdoors.

She had perched her sunglasses atop her head, contrasting with her lush silver hair. The image of a demur doyenne of horse country, but the young shapely co-eds knew Lillian had a healthy interest in bondage and discipline, accented by the ubiquitous riding crop she carried with her.

Their hostess smiled and Joyce began to greet her.

“Good eve-mmphfff!”

Before she could finish, a bright red ball gag was brought between her lips. Polly pushed Joyce’s head down as she buckled its strap. As Joyce’s eyes came up to meet Lillian’s gaze, the ball tightened around the corners of her mouth. She couldn’t’ help but attempt a slight smile around the tight gag as Lillian looked her up and down.

“Oh, that’s a good gag for her, she looks cute.” Lillian brought the tip of her riding crop up under Joyce’s chin and then softly tapped the rubber ball between her lips.

“And no one can tamper with it, without your permission,” Polly said to Lillian as Joyce’s eyes widened, watching Polly dangle a tiny padlock which she proceeded to snap onto my gag’s buckle.

This was unexpected.

“Exactly, and not to mention the rest of her restraints,” said Lillian.

Lillian gestured toward a shelf where additional locks awaited to secure Joyce’s bindings. It was more for their protection than anything else as a few visitors coming for the book reveal might not be familiar with such BDSM centric salons and possibly assume that the assistants were there for automatic gratification without obtaining permission. The locks would help to give them pause if they were going to try anything off the menu.

Being locked into her harness by Polly, Joyce observed a tall, svelte female she was not familiar with enter behind Lillian. Her arms were also bound tightly behind her back, and her perfectly round breasts thrust out in response. She was not graced with a harness as Joyce, instead being tied with bright white cotton rope and a black leather bit gag brought deeply between her lips, bringing her cheeks back in a very fetching way. Joyce thought that her thick head of platinum hair tied into a pony tail was also a cute look. Ironically, she was dressed in Joyce’s usual work outfit of tight top and cut off jean shorts, although her pair were extremely high on the thighs. She definitely had the legs for it.

She was being led on a leash by Lillian, a thin red vinyl collar around her neck.

“I don’t think Joyce has met Janet yet, but as you can see, definitely one us in regards to the same interests.”

The new arrival was in between Joyce and Polly in terms of height with a well-toned and lithe physique. Multiple rope marks were all over her entire body, something that Polly and Joyce shared. Although her home was large, Joyce didn’t think Lillian would have kept her out of sight overnight, as Lillian liked to play with multiple partners when given the opportunity and last night would have been the perfect opportunity.

“I just recently met Janet at one of my friends’ soirees out in the country and she agreed to visit and help out this evening before she heads out of town. I’m sure you’ll all have a lot to say to each other eventually, but let’s get prepared for our guests.”

Lillian handed the leash to Polly and gave her a quick smile and a nod before leaving the room. Lillian stopped and gave Joyce’s a friendly touch on her cheek before leaving.

Joyce gave a muffled good bye as she began to feel the drool come from her gagged lips and drip down onto her breasts.

Janet, the newcomer, also smiled around her tight gag at Joyce and nodded.

For Janet, walking into the room and encountering a stunning red head being gagged and locked into a chest harness by a statuesque raven haired beauty was par for the course given what Janet had learned of their hostess in the short time they knew each other, especially since she herself was entering with wrists and elbows bound together behind her back and a bit gag snug between her own lips.

This was Janet’s first time in Lillian’s house and it had the expected vibe from their previous encounters in group settings. Tied up girls. Leather. Lots of gag talk. A healthy amount of skin. Very interesting playrooms with custom equipment.

Janet met Lillian through her roommate at grad school who had as much of a voracious appetite for bondage and discipline as Janet. Caley had been a regular sub at parties Lillian attended in the area. She had brought Janet to one of the events held by a friend of Lillian’s who had been Caley’s own mentor in the alternative arts of rope, leather and other forms of restraint.

Caley’s dominant streak had increasingly grown as she practiced all the techniques on Janet that she had endured as a nubile and flexible submissive and she had her heart set on topping other attendees that particular weekend.

But it was not meant to be and while Janet had arrived trussed and muzzled from hand to foot, hopping out of Caley’s car into the grounds, Caleyn had soon joined Janet in extensive bondage and gaggage for the weekend festivities. She had forgot to run her intentions by the lady of the house directly, which resulted in a quick and comprehensive comeuppance.

Presumption equaled servitude in her case.

During the get together, Janet had the opportunity to get to know Lillian, who was visiting with some of her own protégées including Polly and Janet had been taken by her pleasant approach to our mutual interests and happily agreed to help her out for this next event at Lillian’s own estate.

While Janet met Polly at the same party she met Lillian, the redhead being secured by Polly was a new acquaintance. Janet nodded to Joyce as they exchanged muffled hellos.

Polly stepped closer and unclipped the leash around Janet’s collar.

“Hello, sweetie. I was so excited when Lillian said you’d be joining us.”

Janet felt a little flutter as their eyes locked and murmured an unintelligible and garbled assent.

“Oh, is that gag too tight? Here, let me help,” she said, turning Janet around so her back was to her.

Her fingers deftly reached the buckle of the bit gag but tightened it to what felt like the last notch.

“Now, let me know if I can do anything else,” Polly sweetly whispered into Janet’s ear, pinching her rear end.

Janet closed her eyes and nodded, relishing the taste of the stiff leather bit between her lips, drawing her cheeks back to what felt was their extreme limit. She felt drool start to trickle down her chin, complementing her fellow bound server’s sheen of saliva collecting on her body. Janet’s inability to articulate a comprehensible response turned her on even more.

The redhead was just as excited. Her brown eyes fixated on Janet, her own muffled discourse joining her new acquaintance.

Part of Janet longed to reach out and stroke her smooth fair skin and rub the drool back onto her face and cheeks, while another part of the platinum blonde bondagette was extremely satisfied to be straining against her own bonds, with no hope of touching her. The compensation was being the center of Polly’s attention at that moment.

Polly had an easy smile and seemed natural in handling two bound and gagged females left in her charge. While tonight’s activities would probably incorporate some fun and games, they were also there to help promote the book by Lillian’s friends, a power couple steeped deep in the alternative arts. The attendees had been chosen for their own standings in the publishing and media worlds and their potential to promote the book.

The gaggle of bondagettes had the opportunity to help represent a taste of the erotic world and sub cultures, most prominently BDSM.

After cinching up on Janet’s gag, Polly secured a small padlock to its buckle. Janet was not surprised when she felt Polly undo the knots of the ropes binding her wrists and elbows as Lillian had briefed her that the work outfits, or lack of them for the book party would be leather centric.

“Okay, take your time if you need to get some circulation back in your arms, and then strip.”

Janet had only been bound for the twenty minutes it took to get to Lillian’s place in the back of an SUV. While extensive rope marks criss crossed her skin, the majority were from earlier in the weekend.

She contemplated reaching out and stroking the redhead, but Polly was waiting with the cuffs and straps. Janet figured it best to bide her time and wait until the book party was over.

As if reading her thoughts, Polly spoke up.

“It just occurred to me, Janet. Joyce is from this area but I think you two attend the same college.”

The eyes of both gagged damsels widened and by reflex they engaged in garbled lines of inquiry as Polly chuckled.

“Now, now. Calm down. You’ll have plenty of time later to compare notes.” Polly began to take out a set of wrist cuffs. “Although, as a Vassar girl I hadn’t expected to be outnumbered three to one tonight.”

Joyce and Janet looked at her quizzically.

“Oh, I thought Lillian told you, Caley is going to be here tonight also.”

Janet gave an affirmative moan. Having her roommate serve besides her tonight would add an extra special thrill to the proceedings.

“She’s going to be enjoying herself, topping all three of us tonight and playing the Domme role for the guests and any newbies.”

Polly chuckled at Janet’s deflated reaction. She spent a lot of time on campus under the heel of her dominant roommate.

“Oh, I thought Lillian would have told you since you had spent some one on one time with her.”

Janet shook her head slightly. Although Caley and she were roommates, sharing bondage adventures and role play, her most recent attempt to move into a dominant role with Lillian and her friends had been thwarted and Janet had been a catalyst.

At the weekend party, Janet had even been given the opportunity to assist punishing her with a flogging, a new but exhilarating scene play for me. She wondered what type of payback Caley might have been contemplating.

“Well, it should be an interesting night. Why don’t you turn around and put your hands behind your back?”

Regardless, magic to her ears.

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For a look at how Janet and Lillian met – see the below excerpt from the archives:

I had yet to see my fellow hostage as I remained blindfolded. She had not had anything intelligible to say as it was apparent she had also been tightly gagged prior to arriving at Mistress Dionysia’s dungeon.

I had assumed we were in an SUV given how I had to be helped up to get in. My legs had remained bound as we were required to hop along the brick walk, Mistress Dionysia and the other female proctor who had arrived with my companion holding our elbows. If my sense of direction was on point, we had been loaded in the back alley.

I had not been introduced to my fellow hostage and her keeper and could not hear any verbal acknowledgement. I could not tell much about the other proctor as she and Mistress Dionysia had conversed in very low tones.

Ignored and insignificant. Bound and gagged.

It turned me on even more.

The vehicle was already running as we approached and I heard another person come out. The hands that assisted me were gloved.

Before the car started, I could sense the door on my side was still open and Mistress Dionysia spoke.

“Now, you’ve both been good little hostages so far. But my associates and I need to speak of things not for your ears, so this will give you a chance to meditate and get ready for what’s ahead.”

With that I felt ear plugs being inserted, followed by headphones.

Total silence.

I had some sense of the movement of the vehicle, but as the ride progressed even that regressed. I simmered and squirmed happily in my bondage, the accompanying sensory deprivation a delightful benefit.

When the headphones came off and the plugs were removed, I had been unaware we had stopped.

A pair of hands brought my bound legs out of the vehicle and I felt my feet on pavement.

“Come on now, let’s get you little hussies out there.”

It was the other proctor.

I felt a hand on my elbow and hopped forward.

After a few moments, we stopped and I felt a sharp pinch on my rear, followed by the cool velvet tones of Mistress Dionysia.

“I couldn’t resist. Now, have a seat.”

I felt a hard bench. There was a light breeze. If my sense of time was still somewhat on point, it was twilight.

No one addressed me, but I could hear the sounds of others and even a few basketballs dribbling on the pavement.

The sounds increased and I could hear more conversations behind me.

“Would you like the blindfold off?” Mistress Dionysia asked.

I nodded.

As my eyes adjusted, I could see we were in the home court for Brett’s team. The sun had started to go down and there were red streaks along the darkening sky as I looked toward the Anacostia waterfront.

Mistress Dionysia was to my left at the end of the bench. She had changed into her own summer attire. A sleek black designer T shirt displaying healthy cleavage and black capri pants showing off her long legs and muscular calves.

To my right were several young black women around my age, none bound but all wearing blue tank tops and red short shorts. They were conversing amongst themselves and ignored me.

Behind me was a sizable crowd and I did not recognize anyone. I was on the bench of the other team.

Across the court I could see Rochelle and the others, dressed in yellow tank tops and black shorts. My counterpart was next to them, also bound in red jute rope, with her arms behind her and her legs together at the ankles, knees and thighs.

She had worn the same ensemble as her squad mates on my side.

Her red and blue outfit was complemented by a dark black leather panel gag and I wondered if it had a nice plug for her to suck on. She was Black, around Rochelle’s complexion and her blindfold had remained.

The proctor sitting next to her was also Black, a stern looking middle aged woman with an athletic body, dressed similar to Mistress Dionysia with a black T shirt and black jeans.

The respective groups of color coordinated beauties were the games’ prize. If Brett’s team lost, myself, Rochelle, Lanette and the other girls would be at the mercy of the winning team and their female auxiliary for the remainder of the weekend.

If our team won, while my comrades would have the liberty of the girls I was sitting with, I would remain the bound and gagged hostage to ensure no harm came to the vanquished.

Either way, I stayed in bondage.

I had known what I was getting into and the thought of guaranteed absolute loss of control was overwhelming.

If anything, these moments here in public, bound and gagged for all to see were worth it. The combination of humiliation and exhibitionism before such a large group was the most potent feeling I had ever had. I was turned on by showing off and it also turned me on to think that I was giving the spectators a thrill.

While the girls on the bench continued to ignore me, some of Mistress Dionysia’s acquaintances came by to say hello, greeting her as “Dee”.

A few clucked at me and one regal middle aged Black woman, also of great height, held my chin in her hand and smiled.

“I hope you appreciate you’ve been bound by the best. And she’ll take care of you.”

I nodded and gave muffled thank you.

The other woman laughed.

“Just what the younger generation needs, a nice tight gag.”

The other team looked just as formidable. My eyes were on Brett during the warm up. A ball arched forward and he gracefully caught it on the jump, aimed, paused and sent it spinning toward the rim for a nice clean shot.

My Brett.

And I sat there bound and gagged, watching him and being watched.

Brett and Derrick continued through the warm ups without missing a shot. I heard a few grumbles in the crowd behind me about how ‘that white boy’s a ringer’, but smiled as best I could beneath my tight gag.

I had to confess to myself that I enjoyed watching Derrick as much as I did Brett.

Our team won the toss. A good omen.

My thoughts began to drift away. Was there a time when I had not been bound and gagged? It had only been a few hours, but the disorientation of the ride over, the excitement, combined with the thorough rope work let the sounds of the dribbling balls and the murmur of the crowd fade away.

It was as my whole summer of bondage with Brett had led me to this moment.

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^{I knew I needed to be tied up for my own good}

I wanted to dress special for this particular game and found myself easily able to follow Brett’s clear and direct instructions:

“No underwear, make sure it’s a combination of the team colors and show off your legs.”

I chose a simple, light yellow summer shift dress that came just below my hips and a wide black belt.

As always, I was happy to go sleeveless despite the abundance of rope marks along my arms, not to mention the gag marks on my face.

The most exciting option (for me) concerning tonight’s wager was that the preliminary rigging of the ‘hostage’ bondagettes, of which I was one, would be done by ‘designated binders’ from Derrick and Rochelle’s neighborhood.

And I had happily volunteered to represent the team when Rochelle asked me.

These were older women who I had not met yet. Rochelle confided that they were tough and experienced veterans of ropework, role play and discipline prevalent in their circle of friends and many had mentored Rochelle and her peers. These ladies had also been known to put some of the guys through their paces.

At least two of the veteran binders were now professional Dominatrixes, servicing the Washington elite.

It had been made clear that as designated ‘prizes’, representing the respective groups of girlfriends whose liberty for the rest of the evening was on the line, we would be on the sidelines, but bound and gagged throughout the final game.

For all to see.

Friends and strangers alike.

For myself and the other bondagette on the sideline, we would be securely trussed up, and our gags would be tight and strict.

I would be tied up in public for the first time.

I could not be more eager.

I did not know if my compulsive working out and exercise fueled my exhibitionism or if a need to publicly advertise my attributes led me to become such a gym rat. But, either way, I enjoyed it and showing off the results to strangers while tightly bound and strictly gagged gave me a thrill.

The thought of sitting on the bench, the hot summer evening, the various players and the girlfriends, eyes on the game but no one could help but notice me and my fellow ‘hostage’, waiting for the outcome to decide the fate of all the girls for the night.

Having two bound and gagged girls present as the teams played the championship was a long standing tradition. The summer tournament for the neighborhoods in this part of the city had evolved to incorporate the predilections of the players and their girlfriends toward bondage and discipline.

Our public bondage would be the prelude to a more populated debauchery of roleplay, bondage and discipline.

The night Cheri had serviced the team as part of her ‘punishment’, Rochelle cheerfully related to me how previous incarnations of the neighborhood basketball teams had formal cheerleading squads attached.

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By the Fourth of July Brett and I were seeing each other every night and were insatiable with our bondage playtime.

All the stress from work, the worries over whether I should continue my own schooling melted away as Brett bound, gagged and disciplined me into a multitude of positions and punishments.

I had gone through a few boyfriends who complemented my interests in bondage and discipline including one older guy who fancied himself an experienced rope master but was more of a poseur. I could easily wriggle out of his attempted bindings.

Brett had them all beat by a few yards of rope. I was always completely helpless as he put me in delightful restraint.

When I asked him how he picked up his subjugation skills, he just shrugged and made a quick reference to an experienced girlfriend his freshman year who was a switch and insisted he should also spend some time at her mercy, in order to appreciate how it felt when put in inescapable bondage. When he tied her up, she took the persona of the bossy sub and gave him clear and concise directions on rope work.

I discovered the joys of waking up bound and gagged, whether I had drifted off while tied spreadeagled in bed, standing lashed to a dresser post or in a hardback chair.

Occasionally, we would take a break from our own rope and gag filled play to drive into the District and meet with Brett’s friends from college. This particular group had grown up in the city and initially bonded with Brett over basketball. While none were on the college team, all including Brett, were accomplished playground players.

I liked the attention I got as I watched them play. I always made sure to wear something short and leggy, if not a sundress or miniskirt, my toned stems were complimented by an abbreviated pair of cut offs.

It was a sexy group. Like Brett and myself, all in their early twenties. Some of the girls were either home from their own colleges or working full time jobs and my outfits fit in with the other girlfriends, also dressed appropriately skimpy for the typical stifling District of Columbia summer.

This was hometown DC, not the federal city of monuments and museums but the one of many neighborhoods that housed the lower and middle class workers who made the city run.

Brett’s best friend at college was Derrick, a tall medium complected Black hunk with a dazzling smile and warm eyes. His girlfriend was Rochelle, also tall with a slightly lighter complexion. She kept her hair short and her lipstick was always bright red.

I had no hesitation showing off my perpetual inventory of rope marks as Brett’s basketball buddies and their girlfriends were also into role play and bondage.

It was an exhilarating and erotic atmosphere for me as I got to know the neighborhood beauties that hung around the court and appreciate just how kinky they and their boyfriends were.

Brett was not the only white player in this group, but I was the only white girlfriend on the sidelines. I sensed no hostility or animosity and always suspected that our mutual interests in bondage and discipline had eased my introduction.

As we sat around the court, we compared notes on different positions and restraint techniques.

“I’m telling you, Derrick will get me spread eagled at the drop of a hat,” said Rochelle. “He really does not like to take me any other way.”

“Wait till he gets you upright on a cross,” interjected Lanette.

She was a dark skinned beauty whose boyfriend lived in the same dorm as Brett and Derrick and had joined a fraternity. He would be moving into the frat house next semester and planned to up the kink quotient on his frat brothers’ furnishings.

“Marcel says he and one of the other frat guys are going to go in together for a St. Andrews Cross at the house by next semester.”

“Ooh, another reason for a road trip,” Rochelle happily replied.

I found myself a very excited observer as one night Rochelle escorted a young woman I had not met yet onto the court. She was dressed in the apropos uniform of halter top and daisy dukes but her arms were bound behind her back at the wrists and elbows with leather straps. Her mouth was filled with a red ball gag, cinched in tight and bringing her cheeks back. Rochelle led her by a leash attached to a collar on the bound beauty’s neck.

While I had discussed a lot of bondage scenes with the group, this was the first time I had observed someone tied and gagged outdoors in public.

I closed my eyes, felt the faint summer breeze in the midnight air and smiled as I opened them again to the marvelous site of the statuesque Rochelle continuing to lead her charge, eventually sitting next to me on the bench as she guided the newcomer to her knees.

It was turning out to be a great summer.

I raised my eyebrows pleasantly but made no inquiry. As a newcomer to the group, I wanted to see how this played out.

There were a few whistles from the players but they continued their game as normal.

The bondagette had a pleasant honey brown complexion and from what I could see of her features with the tight gag, she appeared to be a Latina.

“This little puta is Cheri. Short for Caridad,” Rochelle nonchalantly informed me.

I nodded toward Cheri and she gave a muffled hello. From her eyes and what I could interpret of her body language while bound, she was happy to be there.

“This is what she gets,” Rochelle continued, “for standing me up when we were supposed to go shopping down at Potomac Mills. She has accountability issues.”

“I see,” I replied. “So, she’s going to be punished for a while?”

“In a way. She’s tonight’s prize.”

“Prize?”

“She’s going to have to suck every cock on the winning team.”

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It was hard to say what the best part of driving into the city during that summer was.

Feeling the wind blow through my hair as I sat next to Brett in his truck.

Showing off my body in a sleeveless sundress that came up to the shapely upper thighs I was so proud of.

Brett’s arm around me.

His hand sliding up and down over the most recent rope marks from one of our bondage adventures.

We had met at work where I was the secretary and eye candy for a landscaping firm in Fairfax, Virginia, one of the suburbs outside the nation’s Capital. He was a summer worker, a college student making extra money until school started up again. I was the first person the new hires dealt with for paperwork and the sparks flew when he first walked in the office.

I held my breath and hoped to remain calm as I took him through the process. Not wanting to appear too eager I didn’t ask him any questions outside the scope of our work. With the personnel database at my fingerprints, I would be able to find out anything I wanted to know, but part of me felt I had all I needed after taking in his V shaped torso, broad shoulders and unruly auburn hair.

It was shaping up to be a good summer in more ways than one and I knew he would be able to handle the outdoor work, given those hard, muscled cords coming out of his shoulders.

As well as any special office assignments.

He was a few inches taller than me and I almost topped six feet with the four inch heels I sauntered in around the office.

I made sure to cross my legs as I pulled my chair out from my desk and not worry about how much my skirt hiked up as I leaned over and offered my assistance.

In truth, I enjoyed showing off.

And he was just the type of cool piece of hunk I liked to look at me.

I was never sure if the mistake I made that screwed up his first pay period was a subliminal way to get him back into the office one on one, but I got the idea of how much of a kinky kindred spirit he might be after he calmed down and I was able to cut him a replacement check.

“I appreciate this, Nicole.”

He paused and took me in with his bright hazel eyes.

“But you’re not off the hook.”

“Oh, really,” I replied with my best mock incredulous voice, enjoying the chance to flirt.

And look into his eyes.

“Yes, this was quite inconvenient, I think you should buy me a drink.”

“Me buy you a drink? That’s rich.”

But, I knew I would say yes.

It was later that Friday night, in a booth of a quiet bar I had suggested when he continued to show me his true colors.

“I appreciate the beer,” he said. “But I wonder if you’ve truly learned your lesson.”

“No idea what you mean,” I replied but by the tone of his voice I liked where he was going.

“I mean, I’m saving for the rest of next semester’s tuition and expenses. I can’t have you interfere with that. I have to make sure you don’t cause any more problems.”

He maintained a stern tone but his eyes danced above the hint of a smile.

“I understand. I just have my lowly associates degree and you’re on your way to whatever it is you want to do,” I replied trying to match his demeanor but somewhat jittery beneath my facade.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s a lowly degree. You had to work for it.”

I smiled. He seemed mature but also playful. Being a year out of junior college, we were about the same age as he was going into his senior year.

“So, you don’t want me to interfere? What on earth could you mean?” I asked.

I found out very quickly that night as I rubbed my rear end, remembering the sting of his hand as he spanked my bare bottom. He had just untied my wrists, which had been bound in front of me with cotton rope as he took me over his knee, nude.

As soon as we got back to my place, I had pulled out the box of toys and restraints I kept under my bed. I could tell he knew what he was doing immediately as he took out a length of rope and began to double loop it, smiling as he looked down and wound it around my wrists, bringing them together.

I was still gagged, a long black silk scarf tied very tightly between my teeth. As I looked up at him from my perch on the edge of the bed, the fabric pinched my lips back even more. The pair of panties he had made me take off and insert into my mouth were soaked with my saliva.

“Still feeling my mark? Just remember, it was for your own good.”

I gave him a nod and a very affirmative moan. I liked the way he said my mark. I was very turned on and started to move my right hand down to my crotch.

“Uh, uh,” Brett cheerfully said as he knelt behind me on the bed and brought my arms behind my back.

I moaned in pleasant frustration as he retired my wrists, his hot breath over my shoulder and then brought my elbows together, looping several coils of rope around my upper arms.

He reached around and twisted my hardening nipples.

“I like the way this makes your boobs stand out.”

I moaned and nodded.

“And I know you do too, given how you like to flounce around the office in your outfits.”

He was right on target. I started to imagine how sexy it would be to walk around the office with my arms bound, gagged, my chin up proudly as my heels clicked along the floor.

He looped more rope around my waist, above and below my breasts, all bringing my bound arms flush against my back and pulling the ends of the rope through the loops tight as he emphasized his verbal admonishments.

“From now on, continue to dress how you want but the more skin you show the more punishment you will receive.”

I closed my eyes in submissive bliss. I would make sure to happily raise my hemlines and undo a few buttons.

I was delighting the restrictive ropes and the lingering, but very welcome soreness from the spanking. I shut my eyes and began to lose myself as my mind wandered pleasantly, enjoying my captivity and the loss of responsibility as I offered myself to Brett when I felt a new sensation along my crotch.

I opened my eyes and Brett had connected a length of rope to the front of my waist tie, running it over my pussy and tying it off at my wrists.

My moaning increased as I realized he had spaced knots along this length of rope and one was directly over my labia.

“See, I’m not all that cruel. I’m thinking of you,” he flashed that perfect smile.

I began to squirm and pull on my wrists, trying to get that knot in just the right place.

Brett chuckled at my exertions as he knelt down in front of me and before I knew it, he began to rope my legs together. Soon, my stems were completely bound with ties at the ankles, above and below my knees and my upper thighs.

Even with my legs brought tightly together, I was still doing all I could to bring the crotch rope closer into my pussy when he lifted my ankles up and scooted me to the middle of the bed.

I was on my side. I looked at him for a moment and then returned to my struggles.

He was out of sight briefly.

When he reappeared in my field of vision, he had brought my box of toys onto the bed. The glimmer in his eye as he took the contents in while I lay helpless on my bed was adorable.

“I am impressed, Nicole. Just what every secretary sub needs for a good time.”

I looked him in the eye from my sideways position. Drool came slowly but steadily out of my lips due to the tight gag, puddling on my sheets.

“So many choices.”

He held a riding crop out.

“Oh, this will be much more effective than my hand.”

He climbed back on the bed, positioning himself by my bound and folded legs.

I braced myself for more lashing but when the crop came down, he put it gently on the part of the crotch rope that was right on my pussy and pressed down, ever so slightly.

I increased my struggles to meet the tantalizing pressure he offered. With the edge of the crop very lightly on the rope, it was just enough to drive me increasingly wild. The more I struggled and squirmed, he matched my exertions, manipulating the crop to keep me on the brink.

I wanted so desperately to maneuver in just the right position so the knotted rope would hit the right spot.

Brett began to alternate the edge of the crop from my crotch to my breasts, lightly rubbing and tracing it along my nipples.

I enjoyed the light movement along my breasts, the soft tension when he teased my pussy. I was startled when Brett began to interject hard lashes on my tummy. The combination of tenderness and pain sent me into ecstasy.

I stretched my legs out and maneuvered onto my stomach.

I wanted to give myself totally to him and hoped he would take my hints as I tried to offer my rear end.

Whether he took me in the ass or fucked my pussy from behind doggy style, I didn’t care. All I wanted was to continue yielding and hopefully maneuver the crotch rope he had placed me into where I really needed it to be.

He was out of sight again, but I could hear him behind me.

The knot was starting to hit me just right, close to my clit. The moans into my gag grew louder.

I gave a muffled start as Brett brought my ankles up and held them over my back, my bound legs now folded on top of each other.

With what I was finding to be a practiced assurance with rope work, Brett deftly connected my ankles to my wrists, leaving me in a hogtie.

I struggled.

I gave a garbled protest.

I could feel my face reddening in frustration.

Brett appeared by my left shoulder.

As I looked up, I tried to let loose with a string of ineffective, muffled curses.

“Now, now, what’s wrong?”

He patted my head. My jet black hair was matted, soaking with sweat.

“I think I know what you want and I think you can get there.”

I continued my gag talk, letting him know my frustration even if he couldn’t understand my exact words.

I loved the bondage and playing the bound brat was also a turn on.

“I think you can get there without me touching you. I gave you everything you need.”

I began to squirm and position myself. I knew from before if I was on my side I could not get enough leverage from the connection between wrists and waist to bring the knot down to where I needed it.

Staying face down, hogtied with my pussy on the mattress I began to settle down and rock back and forth, feeling out where the crotch rope lay.

I was starting to get a pleasant rhythm.

I hadn’t noticed Brett had left my side until I felt the blindfold come over my eyes.

Another of my toys.

“Here, this will help you concentrate.”

He was right.

Brett kept his hands off as I continued my struggles, grinding into the mattress.

While getting the knotted rope in the right place was a priority, I also began to let part of my mind wander.

With the heightened physical strain, combined with the role play we had immediately engaged in this sexy night, the intensity of my situation, my emotional and physical reactions were combining to bring my mind and body into a detachment complemented by my lust for Brett and my joy at being bound and gagged.

The adrenalin surge of struggling and enduring Britt’s stringent rope bondage brought me to exhaustion but also to the brink of orgasm.

Laying on that bed, bound and gagged, I found myself falling into an erotic trance, briefly separating from the physical environment of my own bedroom.

The welcome strain from my bonds continued to wear on me but I now reached a mental point with no sensation of my physical situation.

I knew that elaborate and strict rope work criss crossed my body but the tightness was gone.

The strain on my limbs melded into a welcome rapture.

I was in sub space.

Gradually, a tactile sensation penetrated my trance.

The knot on the crotch rope had finally settled on my clit.

I knew I could cum but was still feeling the ongoing euphoria and edging I had gotten from being bound and teased for so long.

If I wasn’t gagged or blindfolded I might have attempted to ask Brett for permission.

It was those thoughts, of how much Brett had dominated me in so short a time that

finally sent me over.

I came and came as I buried my head in my mattress and screamed into my gag.

I felt a warm sensation sprinkling along my back.

Brett had cum over me.

Later that first night, relieved of my gag, our pillow talk compared the respective journeys bringing us to the joys of bondage and discipline.

I had remained tied, trussed to the bedposts on my back with my hands overhead, my legs still bound together.

He lay next to me, turned on his side, softy rubbing my breasts and stomach, along with a gentle interrogation about my experience.

I think I surprised him when I told him the past few hours was not the longest period of time I had spent bound without a break.

I related how a summer gig at a resort in my hometown an hour west of Fairfax led me into a cadre of rope happy cocktail waitresses who’s typical after work routine consisted of the girl with the least tips doing cleanup as well as the leggy loser spending ample time bound and gagged.

I emphasized how much I liked to show off to the customers in the short dresses that were our uniform as well as my fellow bondagettes when I had to take my turn in the ropes.

Brett was not surprised.

“I tagged you as an exhibitionist when I first met you. Who knows, maybe I’ll have a chance to present you as a cute little package, wrapped up nice for some friends of mine.”

“Really?”

Brett confided how he had been turned on by bondage imagery from a very young age and going to university allowed him to meet like-minded people, not only as play partners but also in organized groups and munches which allowed for discussion in a vanilla setting.

“So do you have a stable of subs?” I teased him,

“Not yet,” Brett said as he reached over and began to undo the ropes around my legs. I waited in bound anticipation as I saw his hard cock approach.

“I see you’re not fin-mmphfff!”

Brett had popped one of my favorite toys in my mouth, a bright red rubber ball gag, tightening the buckles at the back of my neck to its utmost. Although I would have preferred his cock, the large ball felt sexy and just right between my lips. As he straddled me, I happily began to spread my legs for him, continuing to flirt as best I could with my eyes.

To be continued

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I had to admit that I was surprised they took us out of the room and into the hotel lobby bound and gagged.

But Brittany and Dorian were as cool as cucumbers.

All four of us had doffed our usual shorts and tank top ensemble for outfits they said would be perfect for the occasion—short miniskirts that showcased our long, toned legs, and tight-fitting tops that accentuated our curves.

For Lorna and me, the outfits also showed off the rope and lash marks that were becoming ever present and multiplying on our bodies.

I enjoyed showing off the marks of my submission as much as I did flaunting my legs.

Being bound and gagged in public was not new to either me or Lorna but we had not expected to be led through the lobby of a five-star hotel with our wrists and elbows secured behind our backs with leather cuffs and large red ball gags secured in our mouths.

Brittany and Dorian seemed in their element as they escorted us out. It was Miami where a lot of wild things happened between consenting adults, but we did get some curious glances.

To a few of the onlookers, Brittany just shrugged and advised that we had lost a bet, which was the same thing she told our Uber driver.

Once again, Lorna and I were in the back of an SUV, bound and gagged. Although, this time, we were sandwiched between our mentors who smiled, played with our hair and enjoyed pinching our helpless bodies and enjoying our muffled responses.

We had not been told the name of our destination other than it was right off the beach and very exclusive. It was run by a couple who also had a high class dungeon and night club in New York City.

I looked out at traffic as we made our way through the city streets, so many other young and nubile party goers filled the sidewalks on the way to their respective destinations.

The SUV pulled down a quiet street and we found ourselves let off by an unremarkable storefront. A lone light illuminated a dark purple door. I could hear the waves close by.

As we approached, I saw a small brass plaque on the brick wall next to the door. It read simply ““Interrogerum II”.

We were buzzed in, and I felt the excitement and thrill of entering an unknown place.

Brittany and Dorian displayed their natural confidence and poise so sexily, as they strolled down a hallway and led us into a crowded lounge.

As eager neophytes, Lorna and I followed closely behind, our eyes wide with anticipation and a hint of nervousness.

Brittany turned to us and smiled.

“This club has always been a go to destination in Miami for anyone interested in BDSM. It’s become a real haven for those with special cravings.”

“Especially for people on vacation who still want to indulge,” added Brittany.

Lorna and I, tightly bound and gagged certainly fit in.

Admiring glances from other patrons checking us out only added to a charged atmosphere.

Many other patrons were also bound and gagged. As my eyes adjusted to the lighting I saw that staff were also restrained and muzzled. Serving girls darted between the tables, their arms cuffed behind them, bright red ball gags between their lips , trays strapped around their waists as they balanced the drink orders.

As our quartet made its way through the club, Brittany and Dorian caught up with a male and female couple who were conferring with a tall leather clad Dominatrix, who I later learned operated as a manager and hostess here in addition to having her own private dungeon.

The female was about fifty, dressed casually compared to some of the patrons, with an olive green tank top and a purple mini skirt. At her age, she certainly had the legs for it.

The couple hugged Brittany and Dorian warmly and we were all soon sitting at a reserved table. These were the owners, Jean and Mitch both exuding an air of dominance and experience, and they welcomed me and Lorna, with warm smiles.

Jean was a retired Army Captain, and I soon found a force to be reckoned with, her short brown hair and muscular physique commanding respect.

Mitch, her submissive husband, who had met her when they served together, stood by her side, his eyes sparkling with an openness and a little touch mischief that I found potent. He was about Jean’s age, in great shape, his sinewy muscular arms filling out a tight black T-Shirt. He wore a pair of black jeans.

“Welcome, girls,” Jean said, her voice carrying a hint of authority. “We’ve been hoping to get a Rostrum contingent again this year. Mitch, darling why don’t you get these two bondage babes a drink while I catch up with Brittany and Dorian?”

Mitch nodded and escorted us away from the table.

I liked how Jean had stretched out the word ‘darling’ when addressing her husband and surmised this was a femdom relationship.

We were soon at a corner of the lounge area that bordered an expansive dungeon play space. I was amazed at all of the equipment, including some large cages containing bound and gagged subs in various states of dress and undress.

“They’ve been parked there while their Masters and Mistresses circulate or explore some other activities,” said Mitch.

He motioned for both of us to turn around and unbuckled our gags, drool coming down our chins and onto our cleavage. The large red ball gags, now hanging around our necks, served as a silent reminder of our vulnerable state, but I already felt comfortable with Mitch.

Mitch, ever the gracious host, asked what we preferred and soon a bound and gagged serving girl brought me a mineral water and Lorna a diet soda.

The drinks were thoughtfully accompanied by straws already in the glasses as our arms remained bound behind our backs.

As the girl held the tray in place for Mitch to retrieve the drinks, I detected a slight smile around her gag as she looked me over.

Suddenly, the serving girl gave a muffled start through her gag, but the tray held steady. Jean and our mentors had joined us.

Jean smiled at the serving girl.

“Not bad, Chloe, you’ve gotten so much better.”

“Chloe is one of our interns,” said Mitch. “And Jean likes to keep them on their toes with the occasional unexpected pinch and grope.”

“Good girl, you didn’t spill a drop,” said Jean more softly, leaning toward Chloe and rubbing her rear end tenderly.

Suddenly Jean smacked Chloe’s rear ear end with her flogger.

To her credit, Chloe maintained her stance.

She was cute and appeared well disciplined with a lot of poise.

“Now, get back to work, slut. We need you to hustle. Otherwise, I’m going to have put my Mitch out back on the stroll.”

Mitch laughed in good humor, while I could tell Brittany and Dorian had a little crush on him.

“So, Brittany, Dorian,” Jean began, leaning forward conspiratorially, “what do you have in mind for these two lovely bondagettes?”

Brittany smiled and looked us over before turning back to our hosts.

“We’ve been trying to use this trip to give them a preview of what they might experience when they graduate. The type of discipline they might go through depending on where they work, what clubs they go to.”

She turned back to me and looked me straight in the eyes.

“Whose tune they march to.”

“That’s right,” added Dorian. “In their internships and as eventually junior staff they will be put through their paces, maybe even subject to internal completion that a lot of our dominant executives out here love to practice.”

Jean’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, nice. Perhaps I can arrange a little contest between these two delectable subbies.”

She leaned over to Mitch and spoke out of our earshot. He nodded enthusiastically.

“Follow me Avery and Lorna,” Mitch said with charming smile.

Mitch led us into the play space, underneath a pair of wooden stocks hanging overhead. As we drew closer, I saw that they were connected to a winch and could be lowered and raised, which we soon found out was perfect for the type of contest we would soon be subjected to.

“Now, girls,” Mitch said, his voice low and playful, “let’s get you into position.”

He undid our wrist and elbow cuffs and then quickly secured our wrists to one of the wooden stocks each, using the same wrist cuffs.

As I expected we were soon gagged again, and Mitch buckled each ball gag to its last notch.

I closed my eyes and moaned with delight as the gag’s leather straps pressed tightly into my cheeks and the ball filled my mouth, my lips forming what I hoped was a sexy ‘O’ around it.

Using a control box on the wall, an electric winch pulled the beams above, ensuring our arms were stretched overhead, leaving us standing on our tiptoes.

All this happened in just a few minutes, a testimony to Mitch’s experience.

The position was both challenging and arousing, our bodies arched and exposed. Mitch then exposed us further, pulling up the hems of our miniskirts, revealing our bare, round asses to the cool air.

I exchanged glances with my roommate, feeling a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I could hear the soundtrack of the club around us, the music and laughter the same type of sensual backdrop for any vanilla outing but in this case, we were facing an unknown ordeal.

Jean and Brittany approached, each carrying a whip—Jean’s the same classic leather flogger I saw her use on the serving girl, and Brittany’s a thin, sinister-looking cane.

Mitch stepped aside, allowing the women to take center stage. Dorian joined him, sipping a cocktail.

A bound and gagged serving girl approached with two shot glasses of what appeared to be whiskey on her hands free tray.

“Now, ladies,” Jean said, her voice carrying across the room, “we’re going to have a little contest. Brittany and I will take turns measuring your tolerance of our chosen implements. The first one to drop the shot glass balanced on your head will be the loser and subject to free use by the entire club for the rest of the night.”

“Or winner depending on how you look at,” said Dorian to laughter from the others.

Even Lorna and I managed a muffled giggle.

“Shut up,” said Jean quickly striking me across the thighs with her whip.

“You’re gagged for a reason,” she said.

Jean took a step forward and looked us both over.

“The two of you are here for our purposes. In the scheme of things you do not matter. You may think you’re the big bitches on campus, but if you take anything away from tonight, you are nothing and whatever you want does not matter.”

Our eyes widened as Jean’s admonishment sunk in. We had enrolled in Rostrum in order to experience the full measure of a unique and esoteric lifestyle. Our constant bondage and submission while matriculating was mean to prepare us for our respective journeys after graduation.

In a way, Jean was giving us a dose of reality if we meant to pursue this as a serious commitment after graduation.

Mitch carefully placed the shot glasses on our heads, and we could feel the tactile pressure of the challenge, both physical and mental.

“But before we start, a special treat,” Jean said.

Mitch moved to another switch and soon the wall before us parted and we were in front of a panoramic view of the ocean.

Through the glass, it was as if we were on the boardwalk, with people walking by.

Jean laughed at our shock.

“It’s a two-way mirror. One of my husband’s better ideas. Might as well take advantage of our location. Don’t worry, no one will know what is happening to two lovely bondagettes just a few feet away.”

Jean stepped forward, her flogger cracking through the air as she brought it down on my bare ass. The leather strands bit into my flesh, sending a wave of pain and pleasure through my body. My eyes squeezed shut, a muffled scream escaping from my gagged mouth.

I wasn’t surprised that she was not holding back.

Brittany, standing beside Lorna, brought her whip down with precision, landing across Lorna’s ass cheeks, leaving a bright red stripe. Lorna’s body jerked with the impact, her legs trembling as she fought to maintain her balance and keep the shot glass steady.

A small crowd gathered around. It was an interesting mix of Dommes and Doms, subs and slaves, some of the latter on collar and lead and many with arms bound and mouths gagged.

Those who could cheered and clapped, urging me and Lorna on.

Jean and Brittany took turns, their strikes alternating between us. True to Jean’s word, each blow on my ass and the back of my thighs felt as if designed to test my endurance and push me to my limit.

I lost count.

My body was on fire, the flogger’s impact sending waves of sensation through me. I could feel my pussy growing wet, my juices trickling down the insides of my thighs as the pain and pleasure merged into an intense, overwhelming experience.

I wanted to cry out, to beg for more, but I remembered Jean’s admonishment and I'd my best to keep silent, leaving me to communicate my pleasure through my writhing body, but mindful of the shot glass on my head.

For both us the whips’ strikes were like lightning bolts, searing our skin and sending shocks of pleasure. My nipples hardened, pressing against the fabric of my sweat soaked top, my hair also matted.

The contest continued, our bodies becoming a canvas of red marks and welts, each strike pushing us closer to the edge of their endurance. The shot glasses, miraculously, remained balanced on our heads, a testament to our determination and I felt perhaps the skill of our mentors in training us so far.

Which I hoped Jean took into account.

As the contest reached its climax, Jean and Brittany intensified their efforts, their strikes becoming faster and more precise. I was letting myself scream into the gag now, vainly trying to maintain my balance and composure.

Finally, with one final, powerful strike, Jean’s flogger landed across my ass in a powerful strike, and I jerked forward. The shot glass on my head wobbled and started to fall, caught by Mitch before it reached the floor. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause; the contest’s outcome decided. Lorna, her body trembling, looked up at Dorian and Brittany with a mix of victory and arousal in her eyes.

My head hung down. I was exhausted but relished the lingering pain of Jean’s whip.

The defeat turned me on.

“Well done, girls,” Jean said, a satisfied smile on her face. “Avery, it seems you’ve lost the contest. But don’t worry, the real fun is about to begin.”

Mitch, ever the attentive host, stepped forward and released my roommate from her bonds and removed her gag, allowing her to catch her breath and recover from the intense experience. Dorian, with a mischievous glint in her eye, led Lorna to a nearby table, where a variety of toys and implements were laid out. I knew they would have fun. A few of the other patrons followed them, some of them seemed to know Dorian.

“Now, Avery, it’s time for your consequence,” Brittany said, her voice laced with anticipation. “You’ve lost the contest, and as the rules dictate, you’re now subject to free use by the entire club.”

I nodded. I knew what this meant—I was about to become the center of attention, my body on display for anyone to use and enjoy. However, given Jean’s previous admonishment, I tried present a neutral reaction, as neutral as one could be while bound, gagged and hanging from a cross beam.

In truth, I was excited as I had ever been.

Brittany wasted no time, grabbing a pair of clamps and attaching them to my already hardened nipples. The clamps bit into my sensitive flesh, sending sharp jolts of pain through my body. My back arched, my breath around the large ball gag coming in short, sharp gasps as I struggled against the restraints, still bound to the overhead stock.

“That’s it, sweetie,” Brittany whispered, her breath hot against my ear. “Feel the pain, embrace it. It’s just the beginning.”

“Perhaps, you’d like to switch out her gag,” said Jean with a wicked smile.

“Of course,” said Brittany. “Any suggestions.”

“We’ve got just the thing.”

Jean nodded at her husband who approached me.

Brittany undid my ball gag, a puddle of drool escaping down my chin and dripping onto the floor.

Before I could say even thank you or anything else, Jean took an object from Mitch. I couldn’t get a good look at it before she commanded me to open wide and pushed my chin up. I felt the taste of a rubber balloon inside my mouth. A wide leather plate covered the lower half of my face and was secured tightly with a strap at the back of my neck. A hose connected to the balloon in my mouth came out of the center of the plate with a small round balloon dangling at its end.

Jean gave me that wicked smile and squeezed the small balloon. It was a pump and the balloon inside my mouth quickly filled.

I whimpered as it grew larger.

“Oh, I like this on you. This will also allow people to interact with you even more.”

More patrons gathered around; their eyes hungry for a show. Jean, the club owner and Mistress of Ceremonies in her element. stepped forward and grabbed a riding crop, the leather handle smooth and familiar in her hand.

“Let’s see how well you can take this, girl,” Jean said, her voice low and menacing.

With a swift, practiced motion, she brought the crop down on my exposed ass, the crop’s edge biting into my flesh. My body jerked; my screams muffled by the cruel gag as the pain radiated through me.

The onlookers cheered, their voices a chorus of encouragement and excitement. Brittany, ever the sadistic mentor, collaborated with Jean, attaching a vibrator to my clit and turning it on to a low, teasing setting. My body trembled, already sensitive from the earlier flogging, now being teased and tormented by the buzzing toy.

More patrons, eager to join in, began to approach, each with their own ideas of how to use and enjoy my bound, gagged and exposed body. A man stepped forward, his eyes dark with desire, and grabbed a paddle, bringing it down on my upper thigh with a loud smack. My body jerked, and I mustered my energy to make a muffled plea for more.

Another woman, her eyes alight with curiosity, approached and began to stroke my thighs, her fingers trailing up to my pussy, teasing the sensitive flesh. My body responded, her hips thrusting forward, seeking more attention, more pleasure.

The room was a blur of sensations and sounds as I became the center of a hedonistic storm. My body was a canvas for pleasure and pain, my screams and moans music to the ears of the crowd.

Just when I didn’t expect it, a hand would reach out in front of me and pump the inflatable gag to its maximum volume, my only response a weak whimper.

As the night wore on, my endurance was tested to its limits. My body, marked with red welts and bruises, was a testament to our mentors. Eventually, the club’s patrons, sated and satisfied, began to disperse, leaving me still hanging from the beam, helpless and gagged.

Lorna, her body still buzzing from her own ordeal, approached me.

“That was... intense,” Lorna said, her voice hoarse from the gag which she now wore around her neck.

Her face was covered with cum as Dorian had introduced her to a few male patrons.

Her wrists were now cuffed in front of her.

She smiled and reached up, pumping the gag.

“I couldn’t resist,” she giggled.

I rolled my eyes, my muffled response making her eyes sparkle.

She might have a few switch qualities herself.

Brittany and Dorian, standing nearby, smiled at us.

Dorian walked forward and replaced Lorna’s gag.

“As you can see, Lorna made some new friends,” she said lightly touching the side of her face with the back of her hand.

“You both were amazing,” Brittany said, her voice warm and encouraging.

Dorian smiled. As our academic advisor she seemed proud. As one of our Dommes, she seemed very happy.

I exchanged a knowing glance with Lorna. Being bound, gagged and having a face streaked with cum seemed a natural part of a spring break for our unique college.

Epilogue: Future Bonds

It was our last night in Miami.

Par for the course, Lorna and I sat bound and gagged, our arms tied behind us in box ties courtesy of Brittany and Dorian. A lot of the subs at the club were envious that our mentors had such elaborate rope and rigging skills.

Our chests were bare, and my nipples chafed under the intricate rope harness.

We wore latex bikini bottoms and had been silenced with hard rubber open mouth gags, our lips forming the perfect receptacles for the night’s adventures.

And rewards.

We were back at Jean and Mitch’s club and had been discussing some interesting summer plans.

“So, you two think you have what it takes to intern here in the summer?” said Jean.

We both nodded. We had been trying to express ourselves through the tight gags and had managed to convey some of our enthusiasm.

Brittany and Dorian had lobbied on our behalf.

“Well, you have good references,” Jean said indicating our mentors. “And Lorna here has worked at a resort with a similar theme. I know Barb Gaffigan very well. As a matter of fact, some of our larger equipment came through some contacts she made for us.”

Lorna gave a muffled agreement.

Jean stared at me.

“You’re going to be trouble, I can tell,” she said coolly.

I leaned forward in the chair, shaking my head back and forth. I knew I wasn’t making any sense but hoped I could get across I could serve as best I could.

Jean flashed that wicked smile again. Her husband was standing next to her, and she reach over and held his hand.

“Don’t worry, hot legs, it’s the type of trouble we like here. We’ll work on your gag talk so you’re more fluent, but I guarantee the two of you will have a nice summer here.”

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Our arms and legs still bore the multiple rope marks from the day’s adventures as we stepped into the opulent lobby of the five-star hotel on Miami Beach, our eyes taking in the luxurious surroundings. The hotel exuded an air of refinement and proper behavior in the vanilla world, a stark contrast to our kinky road trip to reach our spring break destination.

Brittany, with her confident long legged stride, led the way, her black American Express card having effortlessly secured us a suite.

Which we would share.

As we entered the lavish suite, the spaciousness and modern decor was greater than I expected.

Brittany wasted no time in claiming one of the plush bedrooms, her athletic and sinewy frame seemed at home as she unpacked her suitcase.

Dorian, ever the disciplinarian, took charge, her blonde hair gleaming under the soft lighting. She approached me and Lorna, her eyes narrowing with determination.

“Girls, I want you both to understand the importance of representing our college properly while we’re here,” Dorian said, her voice firm yet laced with a hint of excitement. “We’re going to be exploring some of the finest BDSM clubs and dungeons Miami has to offer, and I expect you to behave accordingly.”

I couldn’t contain my enthusiasm, longing for this opportunity to showcase my attributes and perhaps even entice Brittany into a more intimate encounter during our venture in Florida. I flashed a playful smile at Brittany, hoping to build my case for some one on one time.

“I promise to be on my best behavior, Dorian,” I offered with as much submissive tone that I could muster for the long lean academic advisor, trying my best to make my voice low and seductive, and also hoping Brittany would notice my compliance.

Standing beside Lorna as if we were soldiers at attention in basic training, I felt a surge of excitement at the prospect of more tight bondage and strict discipline. After the long drive while trussed up and muzzled in the back seat of Brittany’s SUV, it felt awkward not to be tied up or have a gag in my mouth while in the presence of our sexy mentors.

Even though we had only been recently released before entering the city, I still craved the feel of ropes tightening around my frame and the sensation of a gag silencing any words or outcry, leaving me only able to communicate in garbled moans, building up my gag talk skills.

Lorna’s tall, svelte body seemed to buzz with the same anticipation. I had come to know my roommate’s own subtle signals.

“I’m more than ready for whatever comes our way,” Lorna said, her voice husky with desire. “I’ve been longing to explore more of the kink scene and I hear Miami has a lot to offer.

Dorian’s eyes sparkled with approval as she surveyed us. She had a particular interest in ensuring Lorna’s proper education, having seen the ongoing potential for true submission in her, which their mutual acquaintance, the resort owner, Mrs. Gaffigan had also noticed, prompting her to sponsor Lorna’s scholarship to Rostrum.

“Very well, girls.” Dorian declared, her tone authoritative. “For now, go sit in those chairs, she said directing us to plush but straight back chairs around a small dining table.”

My heart raced as I watched Brittany retrieve several coils of red jute rope from her luggage. The thought of being bound and gagged by Brittany’s skilled hands once again sent shivers down my spine. I eagerly took a seat, my eyes never leaving Brittany’s graceful movements.

All four of us had doffed the tank tops and hot pants we wore on the road trip and were now down to our bras and panties. Not only were Lorna and I covered with rope marks, my roommate also bore several red welts from the discipline she had received during our rest stop via a riding crop wielded by Dorian.

With swift and practiced motions, Brittany secured me to the chair while Dorian was focused on Lorna, who I could tell by her breathing and demeanor was eagerly offering herself for the inevitable binding and gagging.

Soon, we were both back in what was becoming our natural state, tied up again, our bodies taut against the ropes. Our arms were secured behind the back of the chairs, our wrists and elbows tied together. Our ankles were tied to opposite chair legs. More rope secured our knees to each corner of the chair. Additional rope was across our thighs and around our waist. We were completely secured in our seats.

Despite my legs being immobilized, I felt my pussy immediately moisten at being put back into bondage.

With the ropes drawn tight and our backs arched against the chairs, all we could move were our fingers and our necks. We were soon silenced with hard leather bit gags brought tightly between our teeth.

I looked up at Brittany, the strict gag bringing my lips and cheeks back to their utmost, trying my best to flirt with my eyes and a few strategic ‘mmphffs’.

Brittany looked at me with a neutral smile and took a step back as Dorian stood before us, hands on her hips, a satisfied smile on her face.

“Now, rookie sluts, we’ll continue our lessons in submission and discipline. I want you both to understand the importance of surrendering control and embracing the pleasure that comes with it.”

My eyes wide with anticipation, I felt the ropes biting into her skin, constricting my movements. I relished the feeling of helplessness, knowing that my fate was in the hands of these two powerful women. I happily squirmed in my bonds, my breasts heaving against the tight fabric of my bra, my nipples hardening in response to the situation.

Lorna, beside me, was equally aroused, her long legs trembling as she decided to fight against the ropes. The gag in her mouth muffled her moans of pleasure, but her eyes spoke volumes, pleading for more.

She was always a fighter and I suspected our mentors liked that aspect of her.

Brittany sat down on a couch off to the side of the dining area, her long legs crossed. I moaned with pleasure as I took in her luscious thighs.

She reached into her bag and produced a pair of vibrators, their sleek shapes glistening in the light.

“Avery and Lorna, after you graduate and we expect you to take a position with one of the kink friendly firms that Rostrum has a relationship with, you will be subject to severe audit and compliance.”

“Of a very personal nature,” added Dorian.

“So we want to continue you expansion of the sensory benefits of certain types of implements,” Brittany continued, her voice smooth as if delivering a lecture back at the college.

“While it’s obvious these vibrators can bring pleasure as Avery learned at the rest stop, for now it will only be when I deem it appropriate.”

“Just like your supervisor at your firm,” offered Dorian.

Brittany approached me first; her movements deliberate and direct almost as if mapping out a play for her basketball team. She first lay the vibrator against my inner thigh, just inches from my wetness, and slowly began to tease me, moving it back and forth, avoiding direct contact with my sensitive core.

My breath quickened; my body held fast by the ropes. I wanted to plead for more, to beg Brittany to touch my aching pussy, but found myself biting down hard on the gag, trying to hold out any pleas. I also knew that both Dorian and Brittany prided themselves building up our resistance to such treats, using edging as a disciplinary tool.

But I knew my increasingly crimson face and pleading eyes gave me away, conveying my desperate need to cum, no matter how much of a good student I was trying to be.

Lorna witnessed my torment, her own desires intensified. She strained against her ropes, her long legs vainly flexing could under the strict bondage, her breasts rising and falling with each rapid breath. I knew my roommate and fellow bondagette wanted to feel the vibrator’s touch, to experience the same exquisite torture.

Brittany, sensing Lorna’s longing, moved to her side, her hand caressing the redhead’s thigh, her fingers trailing tantalizingly close to her pussy. She teased Lorna with the vibrator, bringing it close but never quite touching her, prolonging the anticipation.

“You both look so beautiful, bound, gagged and helpless,” Brittany whispered, her breath hot against Lorna’s ear.

She stood up and looked us both over.

“But don’t worry. We’re looking forward to showing you off.”

Dorian observed us with great satisfaction. She knew that Brittany’s touch would bring the us to the brink of ecstasy, only to deny us any pleasure until they felt we deserved it.

It was a delicate dance of dominance and submission, one that would leave us edged to our prime point of release and then craving more.

As Brittany continued to tease and deny us, our bodies now glistened with sweat, our muscles tensing and relaxing in a futile attempt to find relief. My body writhed under the tight ropes. I was drooling from my gag, saliva trickling down my chin onto my cleavage, soaking the top of my bra.

Lorna, equally tormented, let out a series of garbled pleas, her body struggling against the chair in a futile attempt to escape the exquisite torture. I could tell she wanted to surrender, to give in to the overwhelming sensations, but Brittany’s control was absolute.

“Remember, girls, this is a lesson in discipline and dedication,” Dorian said, her voice cutting through the haze of desire. “We hope you can control your urges, submit to the will of your dominant, and find pleasure in your own helplessness.”

Brittany walked over to her bag of goodies.

“You see, even if you decide to pursue a Dominant path yourself after graduation, you need to know what true submission feels like no matter how contrary it feels to your own nature, so you can have the empathy you’ll need in training your own stable.”

Her tone was sober, and I took what she said to heart - as best I could while chair tied and gagged.

Brittany’s eyes gleamed with mischief as she retrieved a pair of nipple clamps from her bag, their weight and design promising intense sensations. She approached me, her fingers gently pinching my nipples through the fabric of my shirt.

I moaned into my gag as I shuddered at her touch.

The memory of the clamps during our roadside stop still lingered.

“Thought we were done, my little slut? These will help you focus, Avery,” Brittany whispered, her breath hot against my ear. “They’re a handy reminder of your place and the pleasure that awaits you if you submit fully.“

With swift coordination, Dorian pulled down my bra exposing my breasts. I liked showing off and flirted with my eyes when they were bared.

“Stop,” said Brittany, chuckling and seeing right through me. “You’re going to earn extra punishment for being such a tease.”

Brittany deftly attached the clamps to my already sensitive nipples, causing me to gasp and squirm helplessly against the ropes. The clamps bit into my flesh, sending waves of pain and pleasure through my body, intensifying my desire for Brittany.

She wasn’t done.

In her other hand was a chain which she connected to the clamps. She tugged on it, but I was surprised it was only a slight pull, as if testing it.

Her intent became apparent when she produced a small weight that I learned later was specifically designed for this type of play.

Matter of factly, she attached the weight and let it drop, pulling the chain down and increasing the exquisite pain on my nipples.

I closed my eyes and shook my head back and forth, biting down on the leather bit gag between my teeth, moaning.

The pain was sharp and my bonds so tight, but I wanted it to last forever. Brittany patted me on the head.

“Good girl,” she simply said, turning me on even more.

Sensing eagerness on Lorna’s part and moving to her side, Dorian’s fingers played with Lorna’s nipples through her bra, causing her to shudder.

“You’re next, Lorna. But first, I want you to continue to watch Avery’s reaction, to see the pleasure and pain your roommate’s experiencing. I’s good preparation.”

My body trembled and my nipples throbbed with the clamps, the chain and the weight. I could barely contain my desire, wanting to beg for release, to have Brittany touch my aching pussy, but the gag kept me silent. My eyes pleaded with Brittany, conveying that desperate need I felt.

Lorna witnessed my torment, and I suspected her own desire intensified. She strained against her bonds, her legs flexing under the ropes, her breasts rising and falling with each rapid breath. I knew she wanted to feel the clamps’ bite, to experience the same exquisite torture as me.

Dorian’s fingers were softly playing with Lorna’s nipples when she suddenly attached the clamps to Lorna’s nipples causing her to cry out against the gag.

Dorian and Brittany seemed pleased with our reactions.

I hoped the ongoing combination of pleasure and pain would push us to new heights of submission, teaching us the importance of surrendering control.

“Excellent, ladies,” Dorian said, her voice filled with approval. “You’re learning the true meaning of submission, of giving yourselves over to the will of your dominant. Now, let’s see how well you can endure this lesson.”

As our first night in Miami wore on, Brittany continued to tease and torment us, calling us her bondage sluts, her bound beauties, her little bondagettes, her damsels in distress.

Dorian and Brittany would bring us to the brink of orgasm only to deny any release. Our bodies were glistening with sweat, our muscles taut with desire. We didn’t let up and continued to struggle against in our bondage, our eyes and muffled moans pleading for mercy and pleasure.

The vibrators, nipple clamps, and our mentor’s skilled hands pushed us to the limits of endurance.

It was a lesson we could never forget.

Looking at Brittany, as she sat on the couch, checking her phone nonchalantly as if having two bound and gagged coeds in her five-star hotel suite was just another routine day for her, I appreciated her mentorship and guidance.

Perhaps our upcoming activities during this spring break by the ocean might lead to something more.

As I remained bound and gagged in her seemingly indifferent presence, I hoped she might eventually become more than just a mentor.

To be continued

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It was a perfect day for a long drive as the sleek, black SUV cruised down the highway, carrying the four of us toward our spring break destination—Miami. It was Brittany’s car, just one of many in her family’s personal fleet.

Brittany and Dorian took turns behind the wheel, enjoying the open road – and their not so subtle power dynamic over me and Lorna.

As my roommate and I also took in the sights bound and gagged in the back seat.

Earlier, as I felt the ropes tighten around my wrists when Brittany started to tie me up, I closed my eyes and let out a soft moan, knowing it was the beginning of a journey that would let us experience a curated experience by Dorian, our academic advisor and Brittany, the well-heeled basketball player, both very experienced in all aspects of BDSM.

One question that weighed on me as I sat in the back, trussed up and gagged, was if the boundaries of friendship with my trussed up roommate Lorna and my crush on Brittany might blur, and our kinks would begin to intertwine in ways I had not imagined yet, despite attending a college, Rostrum, devoted singularly to the esoteric arts.

I had been excited and privileged when asked by two experienced players like Brittany and Dorian to come along.

I was so glad my sexy red headed roommate, Lorna, who had become my best bondage buddy this freshman year was also coming.

Even if I expected to spend most of the trip bound, gagged, and under their thumb, perhaps I would get to indulge some of my switch tendencies with Lorna.

But, Lorna had given me a slight smile and a knowing look that morning before we became the trussed up cargo of our journey and were still able to speak to each other.

“Well, Avery, I don’t think I’m going to be the only one tied up and muzzled on the way to Florida.”

I knew she was right and it was inevitable to be in this position. Sitting bound and gagged in the back of SUV was actually quite pleasant for me. The ropes had been expertly applied. Dorian and Brittany’s Shibari rigging was meant for prolonged periods, like the captured prisoners of the medieval wars they had been designed and refined for.

Given my restrained state, I enjoyed the chance just to see Brittany from my secure position. I could stare at her long legs all day long.

We all had on similar outfits, hot pants and tank tops. The exception was that Lorna, and I wore about five miles of rope each.

My mind raced as I sat back in my seat, bound, silenced, my body secured tightly from head to toe.

Both our arms were tied firmly behind her back, with ropes around our wrists and elbows while our legs were secured together at multiple points, coils of rope around our ankles, above and below our knees and even pressed tightly around our upper and lower thighs, ensuring we couldn’t move, except to occasionally shift slightly as we tried to struggle and squirm.

The micro foam tape covering the lower halves our faces made it impossible to communicate. While Brittany and Dorian were enjoying a spirited conversation, all we could manage were the most garbled of grunts.

Prior to the tape being wrapped tightly in between our lips and over and around the lower part of our faces, a red silicone tongue trapper style gag had been inserted into our willing mouths. It was designed like a mouthguard, holding the tongue in place.

While it was more comfortable than the standard ball gag, it rendered the bondagette totally speechless. Even those subs gifted after years of experience with somewhat fluent gag talk were rendered completely unintelligible by this style of gag.

But Dorian and Brittany wanted us gagged for a long trip, Dorian reminded me as she patted me on the head, chuckling at my muffled reactions.

Part of our ongoing training and discipline. After we graduated, there would be times in our careers in the corporate world where we would be cuffed and gagged all day as junior staff at one of the many kinky friendly corporations our college fed into. I was looking forward to a summer internship in which I would be managing a lot of texting and emailing as I navigated my way with hands cuffed in front and happily wearing the gag du jour.

We both had been advised to grunt quickly three times in lieu of a safe word.

With Lorna in a similar predicament, her tall, svelte frame restrained just as tightly, her mouth silenced by the efficient gag and tight tape pressing her lips down. It was a good look for her and I hoped my own presentation pleased Brittany as I tried to wriggle and flirt as best I could.

With such a long drive, we could only occasionally try to communicate with our eyes and wondered if we would get some relief from our mentors.

Not from the ropes, but from our building desires.

We were both so horny.

No crotch ropes. They were making us wait.

But any noises on our part were met with laughter and teasing glances from Brittany and Dorian, who enjoyed our predicament as their captive passengers.

While my frustration grew with every passing mile, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of what awaited us in Miami.

I knew that Brittany had a reputation for being a strict disciplinarian. As the Sergeant of Arms for her sorority, she was known for her love of binding and gagging her sorority sisters, as she prepared them for disciplinary delights.

She was legendary for her intense sessions, binding her prey and leaving them struggling and gagged for hours, only to return and tease them with her skilled fingers and the unknown promise of release.

After some discipline.

She was an expert at the type of ties meant to be long lasting and prolonged.

I had been the recipient of Brittany’s attention on a few occasions and couldn’t deny the thrill it gave me. Brittany always bound me tightly, leaving me helpless and at her mercy. This road trip was no exception.

Her grip was strong and very deliberate as she tied secure and intricate knots, securing my limbs with expert precision. My binder’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she added layer upon layer of jute rope in her rigging, ensuring I was completely immobile.

Now, as we drove towards Miami, my mind wandered to the possibilities that lay ahead. I had such a crush on Brittany and hoped she was developing a soft spot for me. She had her choice of shapely coeds to play with at Rostrum but I hoped I could leverage any emerging feelings so she would take further liberties with me during our getaway.

I wanted to be the center of Brittany’s attention, to experience the full force of her dominant nature. And I was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen.

We had been on the road for most of the day when Dorian pulled into a truck stop, coming to a stop in the farthest part of the lot, away from any other vehicles, adjacent to a wooded section. As we moved through the lot and I looked out the tinted windows, I wonder what the other travelers would think if they knew the back seat of the SUV held two bound and gagged damsels.

With a mischievous grin, Dorian turned to me and Lorna.

“Well, girls, we’ve been driving for a while, and I think it’s time for a little break,” Dorian announced, her voice filled with delight. “I know you’ve had a lot to think about during the ride so far.”

“I guess it’s one way to keep a girl off her phone,” said Brittany.

My heart raced as I tried to anticipate what was in store. We both knew her mastery of bondage and rigging, having experienced so much this academic year. The idea of being subject to one of her whims in the middle of nowhere sent shivers down my spine.

Brittany stepped out of the SUV, stretching her long legs. She walked around to the back of the vehicle, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“I think it’s time we give these two a little taste of what’s to come,” she said, her voice low and sultry.

Brittany opened the back door and helped us out of the SUV, our bodies still tightly trussed, our mouths still securely gagged. As I expected, our legs were kept bound and we hopped to the back of the vehicle and leaned against the tailgate after Brittany opened it. The warm Florida breeze caressed our skin as we stood on the edge of the lot, our eyes darting around, taking in the spare surroundings.

“We’re going to have some fun,” Dorian explained, as if laying out an intramural exhibition. “Avery, you’re going to be the first to experience a little outdoor discipline. Brittany and I have a special treat in store for you.”

My eyes widened as I contemplated what they might have in store. I gave out a muffled moan, but the tight and filling gag rendered me totally speechless. I could only make muffled sounds, my eyes wide as I looked at Brittany and Dorian.

Brittany approached me, her tall frame casting a shadow over my bound form. She reached out and gently caressed my cheek, her touch sending shivers down my spine.

“Don’t worry, my little bondage slut,” Brittany whispered, her voice filled with promise. “I think you’ll enjoy this.”

Dorian reached around us and produced a small bag from the SUV, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“We know you’ve been primed during the ride. That’s why we didn’t give you crotch ropes.”

She put her hand over my pussy.

“But, you’re wet and willing, aren’t you?”

I closed my eyes and nodded, a low moan escaping my gagged lips.

My panties had started to get soaked as soon as we were underway.

My eyes widened as I realized what was about to happen spotting a small, sleek vibrator Brittany took from the bag, glinting in the fading light.

My crush smiled and my heart dropped. While part of me wanted to embrace her in her arms, I was so turned on to be bound, gagged and at her mercy.

She smiled, as only she could when getting ready to dominate me, immediately pressing the vibrator down on my crotch with no preamble.

As the vibrator came to life, my body trembled. The sensation was intense, overwhelming my senses. I tried to pull away, but the tight ropes my limbs in place. There was no way I could escape the pleasure that was building within.

Brittany’s fingers danced over my body, teasing my sensitive spots, while Dorian stood by, her eyes filled with delight. With a sudden flourish, Brittany would traced paths down my chest, over my breasts, and around my hardening nipples.

My breath came in short gasps as the vibrator teased my sensitive flesh. Brittany’s touch was skilled and precise, knowing exactly where to apply pressure and when to ease off, building my anticipation to a fever pitch.

“That’s it, sweetie,” Brittany whispered, her breath hot against Avery’s ear. “Let yourself go. Enjoy the ride. But don’t cum yet.”

My body arched as the vibrator found my sweet spot, right over my clit. I couldn’t hold back my moans, the sound muffled by the severe gag, as I tried to obey Brittany.

I suddenly leaned back onto the tailgate, the ropes rubbing deeper into my skin as I tried to move in rhythm with the small but potent toy that Brittany wielded.

Brittany and Dorian watched with satisfaction as my body writhed, my struggles only adding to their enjoyment. They knew what they were doing, keeping me bound and gagged for the ride, now pushing me to the edge.

“Now, let’s see how Lorna handles a little outdoor discipline,” Brittany said, turning her attention to my roommate.

I let out a moan of frustration. After all that attention, bound and gagged at their mercy, I still had not cum yet.

Lorna, who had been watching my ordeal of pleasure and frustration now found herself the center of attention. Brittany and Dorian approached her, their eyes filled with promise.

“Your turn, sweetie,” Dorian said, her voice laced with anticipation. “Let’s see how you handle one of my dear friends.”

Brittany produced a riding crop from her bag in the back of the SUV, its leather surface glistening in the fading light. She ran her fingers along the length of the crop, her eyes never leaving Lorna’s.

“This is going to add a little discipline to your journey,” she said, her voice low and sultry.

Lorna’s eyes widened as she realized what Dorian intended to do. Not the pleasurable edging of the vibrator that I experienced.

This would be sharp discipline from her advisor.

Lorna instinctively tried to pull away, but her bondage held her in place. Brittany grasped her shoulders for good measure, demonstrating her own dominance in this tableau.

The crop came down with a sharp crack, the crop landing on Lorna’s bare thigh. Lorna gasped, her eyes widening as she struggled against the scarves, her body arching in response to the unexpected pain, red welt quickly forming.

Dorian’s skill with the crop was firm and controlled, her strokes precise and measured. She moved around Lorna, delivering a series of sharp taps to her thighs, her rear, and even the portion of her tummy that poked out through her tank tap, each strike sending a jolt of sensation through Lorna’s body.

“That’s it, slut,” Brittany whispered, her breath hot against Lorna’s ear. “Feel the heat. Embrace the discipline.”

Lorna’s body trembled as the crop continued to land on her flesh. She couldn’t help but moan, her voice muffled by her strict gag, as she surrendered to the sensations Dorian was eliciting from her.

I couldn’t help but think how the welts from the crop would blend in with her rope marks.

Brittany watched with satisfaction; her eyes filled with delight as she Lorna’s punishment.

Probably the most effective use of the crop was when Dorian stopped flogging Lorna, but just pressed it softly over her crotch, saying nothing, looking her in the eye.

I knew that slight pressure over her moist pussy would drive Lorna wild, as we both had been primed ever since we hit the road.

I had to admit I hoped Dorian’s impact play would give her or Brittany some ideas for me during our trip.

Dorian took the crop away without any further discourse. My roommate looked as frustrated as me, her face bright red above the white tape covering her lips.

“Impact play and edging can be fun, but I think it’s time you had something to really remind you of your place in the scheme of things for the rest of the ride,” Brittany said with a light matter of fact lilt as if planning events for a picnic.

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Dorian, looking at the two of us, bound, gagged, sweat matted hair falling over our eyes from the recent discipline.

But we both nodded, still aching for more. We had no idea what was in store, but we were always willing to surrender to our mentors’ whims, eager to prove ourselves.

Dorian produced a small, sleek box from the SUV. She opened it with a flourish, revealing a collection of shiny metal clamps, their purpose clear.

“Let’s see how you handle a little nipple play.”

We exchanged glances, our eyes filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension. We had both experienced nipple play before, but never outdoors. While no one had paid attention to us yet, it was a public setting. We were used to being bound and gagged on campus amongst fellow kinksters, but this was out in the vanilla world.

Dorian approached me first, her fingers like a butterfly as she pulled up my tank top, pulled down my bra and exposed my breasts. My nipples hardened at the touch, my body responding to the attention despite the layers of bondage.

I closed my eyes and moaned softly through my gag.

With a swift, practiced motion, she attached the clamps to my nipples, the sensation causing me to gasp and arch my back.

The clamps were a sharp and painful sensation, but glorious in the pleasure I felt through my body. I still struggled against the ropes, which only enhanced the sharp pain.

“That’s it, Avery,” Dorian whispered, her breath hot against my ear. “Feel the bite. Embrace the sensation.”

My body trembled within the ropes as I surrendered to the clamps, my eyes closing as I focused on all the intensity coursing through me.

Dorian turned her attention to Lorna whose breasts had been exposed by Brittany. my crush gently caressed my roommates nipples, looking directly at me and I felt that combination of envy and jealousy that was becoming more common on our bound and gagged road trip.

With the same swift, practiced motion, Dorian attached the clamps to Lorna’s nipples, Lorna gave out a muffled and garbled moan, arching her back.

“That’s it, Lorna,” Dorian whispered, her voice filled with satisfaction.

Dorian stepped back; her eyes filled with delight as she admired her handiwork. I hoped that the sight of Lorna and I, our bodies bound and gagged, our chests bare save for the clamps, our nipples throbbing with sensation, pleased her and Brittany.

“Such nice accessories for two cute bondagettes,” said Brittany as she pulled on one of my clamps. I tried not to moan too loudly but looked her directly in the eye.

“Now, let’s get back on the road,” Dorian said, her voice filled with anticipation. “We’ve got a whole new level of fun waiting for us in Miami.”

As the sun settled below the horizon, we hopped back into the side of the SUV. Dorian and Brittany chuckled as they watched us make our way on our bound legs, offering no assistance other than to open the door as we slowly scooted back into our positions in the back.

Getting around when tied up hand and foot was a Rostrum college custom. It was not uncommon to have to hop to class bound and gagged if an instructor or upperclassman dictated it.

My body still buzzed with sensation, and I was grateful they had punished us separately as I had to admit I enjoyed watching Lorna receive punishment as much as I loved being edged while I was bound, gagged and helpless.

Although I wish Brittany had punished me.

Brittany and Dorian shared a knowing glance as they got back up front. They were having fun. In their elements as Dommes mentoring two shapely coeds at their mercy.

Lorna and I, bound and gagged in the backseat, could only wait, our bodies aching for the next leg of our first spring break together and my first road trip as a Rostrum girl.

To be continued

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Lying bound and gagged on my bed in the college dorm room Lorna and I shared, I had a lot of time to contemplate how the school year had gone so far.

Since we met at the beginning of my freshman year as roommates, Lorna and I had really hit it off.

My roommate was two years older than me, but also a newcomer to campus, a transfer student from a community college with a lot of enthusiasm for the special interests that brought all of us to Rostrum College.

Though, tonight we both were indisposed not through self bondage.

Our ties were the courtesy of Lorna’s academic advisor, Dorian.

Lorna was also tied and gagged on her bed on the other side of the room in the same manner. Both of us were on our backs. Our wrists were bound above our heads with red jute rope and secured to the bed frame. Our legs were tied together at the ankles, above and below the knees and the thighs, with our ankle ties also secured to the bed frame.

We both had on gym shorts and sports bras, and I felt the bondage complemented our figures, the epitome of shapely coeds. My own outfit did little to hide my toned body, and the small waist I was proud of along with the healthy chest I received compliments on heaved with excitement as I felt the tight ropes around my skin.

We had been silenced with each other’ used panties, ordered to place them in our mouths by Dorian, who then secured them tightly with silk scarves tied between our teeth. Dorian had cinched up on the knot at the back of my neck, bringing back my lips and cheek in an involuntary grimace.

The door to the hallway was open and my thoughts started to run wild. Our binder didn’t have to say anything, but the open door was the sign that we would be subject to free use for any interested parties while she was gone. As the light from the hallway cast a shadow over our bound and gagged forms, I speculated it could be anyone popping in to play with us.

The warm evening breeze caressed our bound bodies, and the sounds of the campus drifted into the room, a constant reminder of our vulnerability.

Our bound and gagged exposure.

We waited for whoever might come in: a fellow coed, sorority girls on the prowl, even a visiting alumnus.

But I hoped it would be my crush.

BDSM had been part of my internal wiring since I could remember. Watching the damsels in distress getting bound and gagged on television or reading about them in the mysteries I devoured had been such a turn on.

I found myself identifying with both the kidnappers and their victims, with all the corny dialogue, wide eyed struggling and other histrionics. Whether it was the spoiled heiress, the blundering reporter or the scheming Countess, I felt an affinity for both sides of the knots and lash.

It was fun and turned me on. Whether I was struggling in the tight ropes and moaning into a strict gag or was the one applying the bondage, I definitely wanted to explore more of these desires.

Rostrum College was definitely the place to hone those interests. Bondage, discipline and other esoteric interests were basic parts of the curriculum and campus life. I had first heard about Rostrum in finishing school, where it was the first choice for many of my peers into the same unique activities.

My roommate Lorna’s referral to Rostrum came from a very distinguished patron, her boss at a resort that was kink friendly as well. At the end of each shift, Lorna and her fellow leggy cocktail waitresses engaged in a nightly ritual that found the server with the least tips being summarily bound and gagged by the others and at their mercy. Needless to say, that venue was also very kink friendly.

That has only been the beginning for Lorna, and she enthusiastically entered Rostrum my freshman year.

Lorna and I had hit it off as roommates as we navigated our new school and enjoyed practicing different ties and gagging strategies on each other.

Lorna had played basketball her at community college and her long legs looked tantalizing bound so tight. I was a little shorter and considered myself a gym rat. We both had begun to attend the popular yoga classes on campus. Something that helped us endure the strict and efficient ties we found ourselves frequently subjected to.

One of the benefits of having an older coed as a roommate as I had been exposed not only to her patron for her scholarship, Mrs. Gaffigan but also to Lorna’s faculty advisor and mentor, Dorian.

A tall, cool blonde who had worked in law enforcement and corporate security before turning to academia, Dorian had a very practical and efficient manner about her with a hint of playful sadism.

From the first day they had met when Lorna hopped into her detention period, bound and gagged from hand to foot and awaiting punishment, Dorian had made sure that her charge was learning the ways of our institution properly. It helped that Dorian herself had been mentored by Mrs. Gaffigan and was very glad to pass on her skills and experience.

This was not the first time that Dorian had shown up on a Friday night and engaged us both in a strict bondage session.

“I’m so proud of your progress so far this year.” Dorian had said with a mischievous glint in her eye as produced several coils of rope.

“But there’s always room for more bondage time.”

The night was still young, and she teased us as she left to get a coffee, chuckling as she advised us to stay put and not go away.

“Now, now, don’t struggle too hard,” Dorian had cooed, running her fingers along their bound bodies. “I’ll be back to check on you later. And remember, no conspiring for any of your mischief. That’s why I packed those panties in there.”

But there was one person I hoped would stop by. Getting to know Dorian had also brought me into an interesting learning circle and I soon found my freshman crush.

Brittany.

A senior member of Rostrum’s prominent sorority, an exclusive and iconic organization within the college, I had been enchanted with the tall, lean, lithe Dominant woman with her smooth Café au lait complexion, short dark Afro hair style, and regal bearing. She stood a few inches above Dorian and was an accomplished member of the school basketball team.

The first time we met she had looked at me with a bemused smile and proclaimed: “And you. I’ve seen you flitting and flirting around campus. You’re the definitely the poster child for someone who needs to be tied up for their own good.”

It didn’t hurt that she was filthy rich and very generous with her black AX card. So far, I had been the subject of one public scene with her at the campus gathering ground, Réage Common.

While academically, Lorna was ahead of me, our status when out and about was the same. All first-year students had to carry a gag and cuffs with them at all times on campus for any summary bondage that an upperclassman, advisor or member of the faculty felt was necessary, needed or just arbitrary.

On this Friday night, we soon found ourselves helplessly bound, with the tight ropes digging into our skin, and securely gagged.

Lorna, with her tall, svelte figure and long legs that seemed to go on forever, stirred only slightly and was not testing the ropes. She was very familiar with Dorian’s style of bondage and seemed to enjoy the opportunity to relax in her bonds after a long week.

I was very primed. Dorian’s visit had interrupted our discussion on our plans for spring break. While cutting loose and the possibility of visiting a dungeon were enticing, I also craved the feeling of being bound and at Dorian’s mercy once again.

My chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and periodically tested myself against the ropes, enjoying the resistance and the futile struggling. I couldn’t help but occasionally mmphff into my gag, trying to get Lorna’s attention as if she was a fellow captive in a kidnapper’s lair.

Looking over at my roommate. I had to admire my roommate’s beauty, the way her fit body curved perfectly, and the way her cute little gym shorts hugged her hips, showcasing her toned physique.

As my eyes trailed down Lorna’s body, I felt a familiar stirring between my thighs. I had been attracted to my roommate since we first met, and our relationship enjoyed a lot of opportunities to explore our kinks together, within the boundaries of our shared curiosity, and with the careful guidance provided by Dorian.

It was a delicate balance we had managed to maintain, and one that added a certain thrill to our budding friendship. But I knew Dorian would keep us in line.

The door parted slowly, and I was disappointed that Dorian wasn’t back but intrigued at the silhouette of a female leading another figure on a leash.

There was familiar figure in the doorway, but not who I expected. It was Joyce, another student from down the hall known for her bubbly personality and love for BDSM. But today, she was not alone. A man followed her, his arms bound behind his back with leather straps, a large red ball gag silencing his protests. He was bare chested, well-muscled and wore a pair of tight black leggings that left nothing to the imagination.

Joyce had a mischievous glint in her eye as she led her boytoy by a collar and leash, a clear sign of her dominance. I didn’t recognize him as one of the males attending Rostrum. His eyes wide with a mix of fear and desire.

The student body was eight five per cent female and all males allowed to matriculate in this rare environment had to march to the tune of the female majority throughout their entire matriculation. The same went for any overnight visitors.

Joyce’s red hair shone in the light, and her lithe body moved with a confident swagger. She wore Daisy Dukes, showcasing her long, toned legs, and a tight tank top that accentuated her curves.

“Well, well,” Joyce said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Look what we have here. Two naughty girls, all tied up and ready for some fun.”

My heart pounded in my chest. I knew Joyce’s reputation and couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation.

Joyce entered the room, her secured male in tow, a broad smile on her bright red lips.

“I was just having some quality time with my old boyfriend here while he’s visiting and wanted to show him off. How nice to see a door open on a Friday night for free use and not just one lovely, but two bound, gagged and ready for fun.”

She looked us over.

“Don’t tell me you did this to yourself. I wouldn’t doubt it knowing you two vixens.”

She tested the ropes binding Lorna’s arms.

“I bet this was Dorian, wasn’t it?”

She smirked at both of us. Her red hair falling over one eye.

“This might be a chance to teach my guest here all about The Rostrum Way. You two don’t mind, don’t you.”

Joyce’s boyfriend struggled against his bonds, his eyes pleading with her. But Joyce ignored his silent pleas, her focus entirely on us, laying before her. She approached Lorna first, running her fingers along the ropes that bound her long legs.

“I know you’ve been a bad girl, Lorna,” she whispered, her breath hot against Lorna’s. “But you know the rules of this college. I suppose this was part of your summary bondage, such as what I did to this worm here, I used to date.”

Lorna’s eyes pleaded for mercy, but tight gag rendered any pleas unintelligible. She could only moan softly as Joyce’s fingers traced the outline of her body, her touch sending shivers down her spine.

Joyce then moved to me, her hands caressing my waist.

“Such a cute tight tummy, Avery. I’ve heard about your little adventures this semester. Not too shabby for a freshman.”

My eyes widened and my body tensed beneath the ropes. My gag was equally effective as Lorna’s, and I could only moan in response.

Joyce’s boyfriend watched, his eyes wild with jealousy and desire. I wondered if not being a student here, if he really knew his place in this world, where women ruled, and the men marched to our tune. Did he yearned to touch the bound beauties before him, to feel our soft skin against his?

Regardless, he was powerless, his bonds and tight gag a constant reminder of his subservience.

Joyce stood between us in the middle of the room, her bound and gagged peers, her hands on her hips, a dominant stance that exuded power.

“Now, guys,” she said, addressing her boyfriend and us. “Let’s see how well you can please me.”

With that, she reached down and began to unbutton her shorts, slowly revealing her bare skin. Her boyfriend’s eyes widened further, his breath coming in short gasps around the tight mouth filling gag. Joyce’s hands moved to her tank top, and with a quick motion, she pulled it over her head, revealing her firm breasts.

I feasted on Joyce’s body, my own body responding to the sight. My nipples hardened beneath the sports bras, and my trussed-up legs twitched with unfulfilled desire.

Joyce smiled, enjoying the attention. She stepped closer to me, her hand reaching out to caress my breasts. My breath quickened, my body vainly trying to arch towards Joyce’s touch. Joyce’s fingers teased my nipples through the fabric, sending waves of pleasure through my bound form.

“That’s it, Avery,” Joyce whispered. “Let me see how much you want this.”

My muffled moans grew louder, my body squirming against the ropes. Joyce’s touch was like fire, igniting a desire that burned deep within.

As I my head thrashed back and forth, I saw Lorna was unable to look away. No doubt her own arousal was building as she witnessed Joyce’s dominance over me.

Joyce moved to Lorna, her hands now exploring the ropes that bound her thighs. She leaned in close, her breath hot against Lorna’s ear.

“You like being tied up, don’t you, Lorna? I can see it in your eyes.”

Lorna’s body trembled, her eyes pleading for more. Joyce’s fingers trailed down her thigh, her touch sending sparks of pleasure through Lorna’s bound form.

“Oh, yes,” Joyce purred. “I think you’re going to enjoy this.”

With that, she reached down and began to pull down Lorna’s shorts as far as she could down to the coil of rope around Lorna’s thighs.

Joyce’s her fingers deftly worked down Lorna’s body. Lorna’s breath caught in her throat, her body tense with anticipation. Joyce slowly pulled down the shorts, revealing Lorna’s bare thighs and the hint of her lacy panties.

I watched, my own body aching with need. I wanted to touch, to feel, but the ropes held me captive, a constant reminder of my helplessness.

Joyce stood back, admiring us. “Now, it’s time to show me what you’ve got.”

She took a moment to turn to her boyfriend, her eyes daring him to please her. He struggled against his bonds, his muscles straining as he tried to free himself. He pleaded with her uselessly through the strict gag, but Joyce smirked, enjoying his desperation.

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” she said, her voice laced with amusement, as she held his chin in her hand for a moment. “I want you to watch me first.”

With that, she turned back to me and Lorna, her eyes sparkling with desire. She reached out, her fingers alternating and tracing the outline of our bound bodies, her touch sending shivers through us.

Lorna and I moaned in unison, our bodies yearning for release. Joyce’s touch was pushing us closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Joyce’s hand began to move with greater purpose. She pushed her hand between my bound thighs, under my shorts, her fingers finding the already damp fabric of my panties. I was helpless before her touch, bound with the ropes I relished, silenced by the gag whose taste I savored.

Lorna was unable to take her eyes off us as she squirmed against her bonds, her muscles rippling under the tight ropes.

Joyce’s fingers worked their magic, bringing me closer and closer to the brink. My body trembled, my muscles tensed as I fought against the ropes, desperate for release.

“That’s it, Avery,” Joyce whispered. “Let it all out.”

My body convulsed, my orgasm ripping through me like a storm. My bound legs twitched, and my muffled moans turned into incoherent cries as I surrendered to the pleasure coursing through her.

Joyce smiled, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She turned to Lorna, her fingers now moving towards my roommate’s own aching core. Lorna’s body was a symphony of need, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps beneath her gag.

Joyce’s fingers slipped beneath Lorna’s panties, her touch sending Lorna into a frenzy. She worked her magic, her fingers stroking and teasing Lorna’s sensitive clit. Lorna’s body arched off the bed, her bound legs straining against the ropes as she chased her own release.

“Cum for me, Lorna,” Joyce whispered, her voice hoarse with desire. “Let me see you lose control.”

Lorna’s body shook, her orgasm building to an explosive climax. She cried out, her voice muffled by the gag as her body surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure.

Joyce stood back, satisfied with herself. As always, when Lorna and I were in bondage together, it was a frustrating yet arousing experience.

I drifted off after Joyce left with her bound and gagged boytoy.

Still tightly bound, my mind buzzed with unspoken desires. I felt a soft touch and opened my eyes to find Brittany sitting on the bed next to me, the back of her hand brushing against my gagged cheek. Her long legs were crossed and she leaned closer.

“Ooh, that’ a good gag for you. You look so cute. I hate to take it off.”

“I’d say wait a while,” said Dorian who was standing at the foot of Lorna’s bed.

Lorna was also awake, whimpering slightly and we both awaited whatever they had planned or would improvise.

“Well, someone’s been having fun,” said Brittany, her hand going down to my panties, still soaked from Joyce’s manipulation.

I welcomed her touch and tried my best to flirt with my eyes.

“This one too,” said Dorian.

Brittany smiled wistfully and looked up at Dorina.

“Free use Fridays. I remember those days.”

“That’s right,” said Dorian, and I was intrigued by her wide smile.

Dorain sat next to my roommate. Keeping her gaze on Lorna, she moved her hand down to Lorna’s crotch and I could make out slight and subtle stroking.

“And there’s another tradition we’d like to share with your two,” said Dorian still looking directly at my bound and gagged roommate.

“Spring break,” said Brittany happily as she began to increase her stroking over my pussy.

To be continued

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I walked down to the basement. There was some soft music on. The lights were off, but several candles were lit strategically around the room.

While I was the nominal sub in tonight’s activities, I was the unsung ‘Mistress’ of this room having lovingly curated it over the years. Nikki had even been with me when I picked out the St. Andrew’s Cross prominent in one corner, the red piping over the black leather cushioning shining intermittently in the flickering candlelight.

“It doesn’t seem right not to see her tied up,” Nikki said. Brad laughed and even I had to smile. She had a point.

Brad was holding a few coils of rope in his hand. Nikki was sitting in a wicker chair. She had doffed the shirt and was now wearing a black mesh bikini. Suitable for the beach but also fitting for a home dungeon.

Brad patted the table by his side. It came to his waist, having been custom built and served as an all-purpose discipline bench and console.

I walked over.

“Face down, slut.”

I dutifully complied, laying down.

“Hands behind your back.”

The second time I had heard that phrase today. It never got old I thought as my husband tightly tied my wrists together.

Not surprisingly, my elbows were also brought back by a coil of rope, touching. Brad had told me early on in our relationship that someone whose elbows could touch should never have that talent wasted.

Brad folded each leg, tying my respective calves and thighs together as my legs stayed slightly parted on the table. As the rope pressed into my flesh, I realized he was using jute rope, which we had begun to stockpile for a growing interest in Shibari techniques.

“Kinda like a hogtie,” Nikki said.

“Yes and keeping a little easy access if you know what I mean.” Brad tapped the butt plug.

The plug began to feel more prominent. Brad continued to press on it, firm and steady.

“That was a good idea, Nikki.”

“Thanks. I thought she needed a little reminder about whose ass that really belongs to.”

“Not to mention her tongue.” Brad had taken his hand off the plug and was standing directly in front of me. He started to undo his pants.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded.

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Although I was trussed up awaiting my fate, Nikki had not favored me with a crotch rope. If she had I would be grinding with all abandon. Instead, my excitement was building with no release.

Frustrated, I was in and out of the inevitable trance like state that greeted me when bound for prolonged periods. The more I thought of all that might await me the rest of the weekend, the more detached from reality I became. The ropes and gag did not feel as tight as before. I was starting to lose sensation. The sense of where the ropes were on my body was fading away in the darkness. In the void.

It was my husband’s voice that started to bring me back. The headphones were off and the ear plugs out. Brad finally arrived, or so I thought as I was still blindfolded. A masculine hand came to my throat and pushed my chin up.

He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Any idea what your good friend and I have planned for you tonight, Joan?”

I gave a garbled response, the tight scarf still pulling back on my lips.

“You’re going to be a good little bondage slut and not get in the way. Do you understand?”

I gave a muffled reply in an affirmative tone.

“Good.” he said.

His hands reached behind my neck and untied the gag. The blindfold came off. Nikki was right behind him, stroking his hair.

“But first I want you to beg Nikki to have all your orgasms for you.”

I looked at my old friend. She was in her element. Proud, superior.

“Will you please take all my orgasms? Leave me with none until such a time you both decide I’m allowed?”

The words came out of my much easier than I would have imagined a few hours ago. But, after being tied and gagged for several hours, a plug in my ass and now at the mercy of my husband and old friend there were no reservations.

Nikki smiled and took a step forward.

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Nikki’s stern voice cut through the living room of my beach home like velvet fingernails across my back.

“Okay, Joan. Come here. Chop, chop.” She clapped her hands. “I have some errands to run before tonight and you know what that means.”

I did. I walked forward slowly. Not that I wanted to delay my comeuppance at my friend’s hands, but I knew that a little bratty dawdling would make the knots tighter and I also liked showing off my figure in the tight sheath black mini dress and black silk stockings I had worn for the occasion. I imagined as I slowly walked toward my dominant friend, it might turn me into an image of a vintage fetish model in her mischievous eyes.

“I said come here Joan.” Nikki’s look instead pierced me, turning frustrated rather than congenially conspiratorial. “Now turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

I complied at hearing one of my favorite phrases and a sharp charge went through me as I felt the cotton ropes begin to wind around my wrists and bring them together. My elbows were next, brought tightly together so they touched, my breasts pushing out, my nipples quickly hardening.

She continued binding me, carefully looping more rope around my upper body and waist, bringing the restraints in tight and snug so my arms were quickly pressed against my back.

“As you know this if for your own good. We need to tie you up to keep you out of trouble,” Nikki whispered softly into my ear.

“How long will you be gone?”

“First of all, my time is my own business. Second, you did not have permission to speak or address me. But that can easily be remedied.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t me-mmphff!”

Nikki had gagged me with a long silk scarf, drawing it tightly between my lips and teeth.

“What every bondage slut needs, a good gag.” She looked over her handiwork and gave my nipples a pinch, enjoying my muted response.

“Ok, hot legs come and have a seat. I need to truss those gorgeous gams of yours.”

I sat down in a hard back wooden chair she had set aside. She deftly and expertly bound my ankles together as well as below and above my knees.

“And because you have such a nice pair of stems, let me add some for your luscious and delicious thigh muscle,” she cheerfully said, binding my upper legs tightly together.

Nikki stood up and smiled.

“So, comfy, old friend? I want to make sure you’re okay while I’m gone.’

I gave a muffled, garbled response.

“Oh, what’s wrong sweetie? Is that gag too tight? Here, let me help.”

I immediately regretted not just nodding my head.

Nikki walked behind me and tightened the gag, the scarf pulling even tighter, bringing my cheeks back to what felt like their utmost limit. This was not the loose type of gag you saw on a damsel in distress on a television show. I was gagged and knew it.

“Now you just let me know if there’s a problem,” Nikki said with a cheerful glint in her eye.

I moved my head back and forth slightly, the fabric pinching the corners of my mouth, mmphffing in submission.

“Ok dear. Now, you just sit tight. Don’t go away.”

Nikki was quickly out the door, ready to go leisurely shopping along the boardwalk in her snug tank top sans bra, with short shorts showing off her long tan legs. As I watched my friend leave I thought how passerby would probably type her as a typically vacationing yuppie, out using some sugar daddy’s credit card for recreation. I knew that beneath that seemingly benign exterior was one of the most feared political lobbyists to stalk the corridors of power.

My husband and I were part of the small circle of friends that knew of even deeper layers within our old friend, that of sexual dominance and supremacy. Nikki had dressed for the beach, I was dressed for the dungeon downstairs.

As I settled in my bonds, slowly simmering into sub space, I reflected on how we had all met. Three young ambitious professionals brought together by ropes, gags and restraint.

Well over a decade ago, Nikki and I had been bright eyed college graduates trying to get a foothold in government service by interning on Capitol Hill. Nikki and I did not work in the same office but ended up sharing a row house with three other recent graduates, all female.

A few years older and out of law school, Brad was the junior legal counsel for a committee that included both the representatives that Nikki and I worked for.

Both of us marked Brad right away as a good catch. Conventionally handsome, it was his drive, ambition and maturity that set him apart from the other wannabes and poseurs we constantly met in the watering holes of the Hill.

Nikki was the first to go out with him and I was very jealous, especially when she brought him back to our place.

We all had separate bedrooms in the rambling row house, but I felt I could hear every squeak and giggle of their furtive lovemaking. I went to sleep with frustrated envy.

The next morning, I spoke to Nikki over coffee. Brad was gone.

“Have fun?” I was determined to be civil and not let some random guy come between our own budding friendship, even if I had a slight crush on him.

“Not bad. I’m doubt I’ll see him again, though.”

“Really?” My hopes were up.

“Yeah, I like my men a little more pliable, if you know what I mean.”

I wasn’t sure. Nikki could be a little inscrutable sometimes. As she put her cup in the sink, I noticed something strange.

“Are those rope marks?” I asked.

Nikki nonchalantly looked over the red lines criss crossing her arms and wrists.

“Oh, yeah. I did let him tie me up. That’s another thing. When I’m with a guy, I’m the one that’s going to top, if you get my drift. I let him have a pass on that, this one time. He is a smooth talker.”

It was a lot of information to take in over morning coffee. I had suspected Nikki was somewhat kinky, but the big take away in our conversation from my perspective was that Brad was a free agent.

“So Brad likes to tie up girls, does he?”

Nikki smiled at me.

“I’ll say. He knows more knots than a perverted scoutmaster. And I bet you’re just the girl to fall into his clutches, aren’t you Joan?”

I smiled back at my friend. I liked a combination of role play and rope in my relationships, but unlike Nikki I was very happy to be on the submissive side.

It didn’t take long to get Brad into my bedroom. And when he brought up the idea of being tied up, I enthusiastically complied, offering a box of rope and scarves I just happened to have under my bed. We continued to see each other and as our careers became more established so did our relationship and our exploration of bondage fun and games.

Nikki was very supportive and sincerely happy for the two of us, as she appreciated having friends in the lifestyle even if her own tastes were for having hot young men under her heel, literally. As it was, there were a few bored summer nights where I was a willing test subject as she tried out new knots and gagging strategies.

When Brad and I became engaged and eventually married as we delved deeper into a BDSM lifestyle, Nikki stayed single, concentrating on her career but still having extracurricular fun. It wasn’t uncommon for the three of us to hit the local dungeons together, Brad leading me on a leash, my arms bound behind my back, a ball gag in my mouth while Nikki prowled for new conquests, riding crop in hand.

Now, while I still worked on the Hill, Brad had joined a private firm. His lucrative practice allowed for several luxuries including our Delaware beach house and the plethora of dungeon equipment stocked in the basement.

Nikki enjoyed her fun, not settling down, running through a variety of playmates. As she went into lobbying work, with its high stakes and intense atmosphere, her bondage interests provided a healthy release. We continued to grow close, and I could tell she still had a little thing for Brad. But they were both tops and their relationship with each other and myself was intertwined. While Nikki might offer my husband a few pointers on technique and bear witness to some of our sessions, they had not slept together again since that long ago night in Capitol Hill.

Inviting Nikki and her latest sub to our beach house was a way to enliven the doldrums of late August and engage in full-fledged bondage, dominance and submission playtime with likeminded friends. One thing I had in common with Nikki was a tendency toward showing off and the combination of exhibitionism and humiliation when I was bound and gagged in front of others was very potent to me.

While Nikki’s boy toy was supposed to join us for this extended beach weekend, he canceled at the last minute and Nikki and I found ourselves alone that Friday afternoon, waiting for Brad to finish work and come across the Bay Bridge.

It didn’t make sense to just sit around, talk about the latest DC gossip and let all that rope go to waste. Especially when I had modeled my new outfit for Nikki.

I didn’t even hear the door upon her return, still deep in my reverie, mentally back in those early days of exploration and lust as I now sat in my vacation home, bound and gagged.

Upon her return, Nikki’s demeanor was somewhat ambivalent towards me. She made a pretense of seeming to be involved in her own concerns, staying in the living room but not acknowledging me as she checked her messages, while I sat a few feet away, still as tightly trussed up as when she left me. Her aloofness as she ignored me was somewhat intoxicating and helped to build tension as I knew she would not be able to hold off forever. Knowing my old friend, I couldn’t imagine her wasting the opportunity of a bound and gagged subject at her disposal.

Finally, she looked up.

“Oh, Joan, how are you doing? Miss me?”

I gave a muffled response. The strict gag felt exquisitely uncomfortable as it pulled back my lips and into my cheeks. I knew she liked gag talk from her silenced prey.

“I am so sorry, but I can’t make out a word you are saying.”

Nikki brought over another hardback chair and placed it in front of me, straddling it from the back as she sat down.

“Look, my little bondage babe, that gag is not coming out anytime soon. Still, you are going to have to learn how to communicate with me. Especially when I bring our special guests over.”

My eyes widened. I couldn’t tell if she was just verbalizing a role play, getting me in the mood for Brad or if she had actually invited some more playmates.

“Some of which, you’ll be servicing. Others won’t want anything to do with you depending on their preferences. Most likely, the next time that gag comes off is when I have a nice thick cock lined up for you.”

I protested uselessly and shook my head. Nikki laughed.

“Oh, you probably thought all the people I’d be bringing over would be some other girlfriends or bored socialites. Please. If that does happen, you’ll be the one forking over the cash. Right now, I’ll just leverage you when and where I can. And by the way, I think it’s time I warmed up the little tush of yours.”

Nikki stood up and retrieved a butt plug from an array of toys we had laid out before on the coffee table.

“Here, stand up. Bend over just a little bit while I make use of that tight ass.”

I stood up out of the chair and Nikki lifted up the back of my mini dress, pulling down the panties I had also wanted to show off to Brad.

She slowly worked the butt plug into my rear, opting not to use any lubricant.

“Remind you of anything?” She said as she took her time. “Perhaps that fine cock of your sexy husband’s?”

As much as the three of us played together, the tone of her voice was slightly different when she mentioned Brad and I should have realized then she had more in mind this weekend than just bondage fun and games.

“Okay, that’s in quite nice. Now hop over to your bedroom for me.”

I followed her direction and made my way down the hall to our bedroom. I was used to navigating when my legs were trussed up. Once inside, she kept me standing, positioning my back to one of the tall bedposts of our four-poster bed.

“I think this is a nice spot for you, a little out of the way, but if there is a need to pimp you out, you’ll be available.”

Nikki added more rope to my legs and waist to bind me in a standing position against the bed post.

“Now, I may be expecting some VIP clients who might not want the extra attention, at least not at first. So let’s make sure,” Nikki said as she slid a blindfold over my eyes.

“And in case you’re being you’re your usual sneaky self and eavesdropping.” A pair of earplugs were inserted, followed by headphones sliding over my ear

As I stood there in my new position, immobilized, mute and deaf, I didn’t put it past Nikki to bring some other players into the mix for the weekend. Combining her lobbying with a little fun. But regardless while she might be trying to either inject some role play verbalization or bring in some new elements, Brad would have had to approve it.

Again, I lost track of time and my anticipation increased even more as I stood there, tightly bound, unable to speak, unable to see, unable to hear.

I was experienced in enduring strenuous bondage positions for long periods of time and relished the challenge. Especially with my ass filled. Yoga, stretching, working out all made it worthwhile. But when being dominated by my husband I knew what to expect when the ropes came off.

I ran the different scenarios in my mind. Nikki had invited someone or even more than one player at the last minute. Nikki was teasing me and filling my head with the promise of degradation by strangers, but it would only be her and my husband. Regardless, I was anxious to find out.

To be continued

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We loved to entertain and it was always better with like-minded couples. Our favorites in the newlywed years were Janice and Ari. My Brandon and Janice had actually met on line right after they graduated from college. As was a commonality with all four of us, they ‘bonded’ over interests in BDSM. However, luckily for me Brandon and Janice just stayed friends.

Janice met Ari at a local BDSM club where they hit it off with immediate chemistry. I could see why. He was about the same height as my husband, with jet black hair, olive skin and grey eyes. Our husbands made a good ‘top’ team appearance wise, with Brandon’s thick brown hair, chiseled features and blue eyes complementing nicely. Together we made a nice quartet of play friends with the same interests.

On this particular occasion, the four of us got together on a football Sunday. While our husbands watched a game and chatted over beers, Janice and I were in the kitchen. I had worn my usual weekend outfit of cut off blue jeans and tank top. Since Janice and Ari were visiting, I made sure they were the tightest and shortest Daisy Dukes I had. The tank top was black and I went without a bra. Since they had seen me often with not much on except a few yards of rope or a leather harness, I had no reservations flouncing around as we hosted.

At five eight, I was a few inches shorter than Janice who had played basketball in college. She wore a denim mini skirt and a red T shirt that looked so sexy against her tan skin. She kept her red hair in a short style, appropriate for the professional work she did as an administrator at a wireless carrier. As a former college cheerleader, I still kept in shape as did Janice. While I usually got complements and appreciative glances at my own shape, I was so envious of her long, lithe legs.

We started the usual small talk. As the men seemed to get engrossed in the game, our voices dropped a little as we leaned down with elbows on the counter, faces close and compared notes on our respective adventures the past week. We made sure to position ourselves so our spouses got a nice view of our rear ends if they were checking on us.

“So, he had you tied up all night that way?” Janice asked me.

“Right, to the post in the basement. I actually fell asleep while standing up.”

“Oh, I just love it when he’s got me in a tie that seems like it lasts forever.”

“I know, it’s the best.” I agreed. “He knows how to do it so it’s safe and I don’t lose circulation. Especially when he uses straps.”

“Too bad it’s not a three day weekend; it would be so great to be tied up like that side by side. We could spend the night together, kind of.”

Brandon came behind me and squeezed my shoulders.

“We need to make a beer run.”

Janice and I exchanged looks. We both knew that meant she and I would be spending some time bound and gagged. One of the rules we had worked out when getting together was that if the husbands had to leave us alone, Janice and I would be tied up while they were gone.

Besides getting us hot and ready for upcoming activities, it was meant to keep us out of trouble. Janice and I had a habit of starting to play when left to our own devices and in those cases it really did involve multiple devices. While it had at first seemed amusing and tantalizing to our spouses to find their horny wives engaged together whenever they returned, the men began to get a little perturbed on missing out on the action.

“Hey, babe.” I turned around to face my husband putting my arms around his neck. “I have an idea.”

A few moments later Janice and I were sitting next to each other on stools that had been pulled out to the center of the kitchen.

I wasn’t sure how far Janice’s bondage had progressed. So far, my wrists and elbows were tied behind my back with nylon rope. Ari bent my head down as he placed a leather bit gag between my lips and teeth. I had let my own brunette hair grow out since college and had put it up in a pony tail before they came over, anticipating access needed to my neck for collaring and gagging.

Two boxes of cotton and nylon ropes, leather straps, gags and other toys had been placed on the kitchen counter for our husbands’ use.

My suggestion today was we should switch regarding which hubby tied up which wife before they left. Although our play time together had resulted in a variety of mutual contact once things got going, it occurred to me that Ari had never tied me up as well as Brandon had not restrained Janice since their single days, before we met each other.

I had thought about requesting we be tied to the basement posts as Janice and I had been discussing. But that meant when the boys got back, they would still be spending their time upstairs watching the game, with no chance for Janice and I to distract them during half time, time outs, commercial breaks.

As my head came up, I felt the leather bit tighten even more in my mouth. I moaned with pleasure.

“Somebody’s happy,” my husband commented.

I looked over and saw Janice’s arms were behind her back. I knew Brandon’s techniques would keep her snug and secure. He picked up a a red ball gag from the counter.

Janice seemed happy at the selection.

“Check it out Diana, it matches my t-mmphfff.”

Brandon popped the gag into her mouth and tightened the strap at the back of her neck.

Ari tied my legs together with rope at my ankles as well as above and below my knees. I moved my head slightly back and forth as he finished off the leg tie with rope around my thighs. I batted my eyes like a cliche of a damsel in distress at my binder. The opportunity to flirt with Ari was one reason for my suggestion. I shifted a little bit, trying to see if I could get some movement to satisfy the growing urge between my legs. I closed my eyes and felt so happy and content at the attention Janice’s hot husband was giving me. I heard the door shut and realized the men had gone.

I looked over at Janice. Brandon had tied her legs together at the ankles and knees. Her mini skirt was hiked up so far I could see a glimpse of her red panties.

This was one of my favorite parts about being tied up with her. Struggling side by side. Trying to communicate as best we could. We had gotten to the point where we could read each other’s body language and knew how to translate our respective gag talk.

Something was different. She was leaning forward with her head pointed toward the ceiling. Usually she would be moaning and mmphffing away but was silent. I noticed a little movement behind her back and was shocked to see her bring her wrists forward, now free. She wriggled a little more and I was even more shocked to see her elbow ropes come down. Normally, Brandon would have made a cross knot in the middle of the tie and it would require a lot of leverage to get out of it.

She reached behind her neck and undid the ball gag while looking at me. There was a big smile on her face.

Janice said nothing while I tried to communicate with her. She turned her attention to her legs and was soon off the stool, unfettered.

I continued to try and ask her questions, but she just smiled, walking around me as if sizing me up for something.

I heard her off to my left, out of sight and it sounded as if she was going through the boxes.

“Surprised?” Janice was behind me. She reached around and cupped my breast, pinching my nipples.

I was still turned on by my bondage, but more than curious. Our husbands had been pretty firm about us not playing while they were gone.

“Don’t worry. Ari and Brandon know. Didn’t you think their beer run was a little early?”

I stopped struggling and trying to talk around the gag. What did she mean? I looked at her with total befuddlement.

Janice pulled her stool over in front of me. She sat down and crossed her those luscious legs. I tried my best to flirt with my eyes, hoping to get some sympathy and find out what was going on.

“You are such a tease, Diana. And that’s probably why you’re the one tied up right now. It’s not that the guys didn’t want us to be playing with each other, they wanted a little more control on what to expect when they leave us alone.”

Without thinking, I tried to protest and Janice giggled.

“I gotta hand it to you, you never quit.”

She stood up and ungagged me. A rush of drool spilled down my chin and onto my cleavage.

“This does not make sense, Janice. What exactly is going on?”

“Well, one way to look at it is we’re helping you save a lot of money on couples therapy.”

“Therapy, what do you mean therapy? We’ve got a great marriage.”

“Perhaps but remember I knew Brandon before you did and he is a very controlling type.”

“I know that.”

“Perhaps, but maybe you’ve gotten too complacent. And in turn have gotten a little too selfish. Think of this as the eventual comeuppance.”

In our part of the BDSM world, comeuppance had a strong meaning. Whether it was role-play or part of partners’ relationship, it meant that punishment was on the way. I tried to think of anything that I might have done some things to make Brandon take extra measures, but even so wouldn’t admit it to someone outside our marriage. Yet. No matter how many times we had spent tied up together

“Overall, they don’t want to come back and find us going at it like we used to, but they have no problem with me getting you ready for well, you know, mass abuse.”

I was still in disbelief and protesting as she reached under her skirt and pulled off her panties. As she started to crumple them up, I knew exactly what she was going to do.

“No, Janice, please don’t, please don’t gag me with yo-mmphff!”

My feeble protests were silenced as she stuffed her red panties in my mouth. She took a roll of double sided tape and wound it harshly between and then over my lips several turns.

I had been gagged this way many times before and could enjoy it, especially knowing where those panties had been. But I had still wanted to try and communicate with her, to get to the bottom of this. The combination of the panties stuffed in my mouth and the several layers of wrapping had me effectively silenced, unable to articulate any basic verbalizations. My mmphffing and garbled moaning were not dramatic license now.

“Still don’t believe me? Think it’s some sort of fluke? Here are all the text messages.”

She put her phone in front of my face and scrolled through a group chat between her, Ari and Brandon. It was mostly a blur, but she stopped on a few messages for me to look at.

‘Can’t wait to surprise her’ from Ari.

‘It will be so much fun to punk her’ from Janice.

And finally from my husband, ‘Trust me, this is what she needs’

The one thing that did turn me on about the situation was that I had been their target and the subject of so much planning and preparation. But I was still confused by what Janice had said. From my point of view everything was fine.

Janice had me stand up and hop into our living room. She had removed my sandals and I was experienced with this mode of in home transportation. The coffee table had been cleared. It was a very heavy wooden piece with wrought iron legs. Brandon had bought it for the express purpose of our play activities.

I was guided down to the table on my stomach, my legs still on the floor. It was obvious Janice did not trust me not to try and turn the tables on her, so to speak. She undid my leg ties first and then retied each of my stems to an opposite table leg. With the lower half of my body secure and immobile, my wrists and elbows were untied and before I could react she pulled my tank top off.

She gave me another smile and pinched my nipples. “So nice, I’m always impressed about how good shape you’re in.”

She guided my torso back down to the table and each arm was also secured to an iron table leg. With another coil of rope securing my waist to the table, I found this to be one of the most secure ties I had ever been in, and it was our table. I could move my head a little bit up and to the side but with a minimum amount of rope, Janice had almost completely immobilized me.

I heard Janice go to her purse. I got anxious as I knew she like to bring her own toys. Her legs appeared in front of me. She kneeled down, giving me a nice look at her cleavage. As turned on as I could get looking at her body while I was tied up, I was still nervous.

She kissed my forehead. “You look so cute. This is going to be fun.”

She walked behind me, I felt her pull my shorts down just below my butt cheeks. My pussy was positioned right at the edge of the table. While I couldn’t see what she was doing with her hands, I heard the tell tale whir of a Hitachi wand. It was the best and worst thing she could do to me now.

I didn’t take long for me to feel grateful that my current gag was so strict. Muffled screams were all that emerged for several minutes as she deployed the wand. My eyes shut, I started to enter the edge of subspace, the multiple orgasms while being so strictly restrained brought me to a quivering, melting state of mind, knowing I was at my friend’s mercy.

The wand stopped and I tried to keep the breathing through my nose even and steady. She had undone my pony tail and my hair was matted with sweat. Just when I felt myself recovering from the wand, I felt a hard penetration. I couldn’t tell which device she was using, but it felt like one of the many strap ons we kept in the house. This also sent me over the top and I began to scream again into my gag.

While everything happening to me was part of my arousal template and my self-identification as a bondage wife, there was still a little part of me miffed and confused by the circumstances that brought me here and Janice’s statements. I thought back to when my sisters would tie me up, more as training and preparation.

Suddenly, my husband’s voice cut through my thoughts.

“Cool, honey, using our favorite table again.”

I could make out Brandon and Ari just to my side.

“I’ve been warming her up for you.” Janice said. The tone of her voice was very proud.

I knew it was hopeless, but I tried to get my husband’s attention. It all came out gibberish and he just patted me on the head.

“Sorry, Diana. Keep trying.”

Suddenly, the men were out of my peripheral vision. I heard the unbuckling of a belt and suddenly was being rammed in the rear with a cock.

I closed my eyes, moaned and wondered which one it was.

“Open your eyes,” Brandon said.

He was standing in front of me. While I was being fucked in the ass by Ari, he had stripped to the leather thong that he had worn in preparation for today.

He pulled up an ottoman that was about the same height of the table and sat on it. By spreading his legs to the iron table legs where my arms were bound, he was able to get the tip of his cock dancing in front of my face.

I forgot all the worries and insecurities I had been feeling as I caught sight of that which I worshipped every minute of every day. He was my husband; my master and I would do everything I could to bring him to fulfillment no matter how tied up I was.

I moaned and mmphffed trying to get it across that I wanted the gag off.

After teasing me and pressing the head of his cock a few times against my gagged mouth, I felt the wrapping start to come off. Brandon pulled the panties out, smelling them as he smiled at me.

“Sweet. Now, I know you realize I have something even better tasting for you.”

I nodded. “Yes, Master.”

“I’m impressed, Brandon. You’re almost as flexible as these two sluts.” Ari was still pumping into me.

“Hey, gotta keep up.” He began to move his cock toward me. Because how I was tied and the level of the table, I wouldn’t be able to deep throat him but still wanted to make him come as quick as I could.

I concentrated my tongue, flicking around the head of his cock and sliding my tongue up and down his shaft as much as I could. Since I was only able to get part of him inside, I began to verbalize some of the things I knew got to him.

“Oh, please, fuck my mouth, master. I need your cock.”

No one else was speaking.

“Please, pimp me out. Let me suck cock for you and make you some money.”

“Dress me up and let me walk that corner for you. I’ll suck cock all day long for you.”

I kept up the patter and soon he shot all over me face. I kept my eyes and tongue open. A good portion made it inside my mouth.

I felt a warm load sprinkling on my lower back. Ari had pulled out and come over me a few seconds after Brandon.

Brandon got up and was out of my limited view. Everyone else was still silent. I heard some clinking and suddenly a ball gag filled my mouth. The rubber taste of the gag mixed in with my husband’s cum.

“Thanks, slut,” my husband said. “We don’t need to hear anything you have to say.”

“Same with mine,” said Ari.

I saw his foot push the ottoman a few feet back and suddenly Janice was sitting on it.

She was down to her red panties and also braless. Her hands were tied behind her back and I hoped whoever had bound her had done it for real this time. She was gagged with a silk scarf tied very tightly between her teeth.

Ari was still clothed and as Brandon walked past Janice, I could see he had put his jeans back on.

“Now, do you think you two can behave while we catch the second half?” Brandon asked.

Both Janice and I gave muffled responses. Ari put up his finger shushing us. “That was a rhetorical question. Nodding will suffice.”

While Janice and I stayed tied up for the rest of the game, I was taken off the table when Brandon noticed my circulation starting to be affected. He kept me gagged and as I rubbed my wrists he dangled a pair of handcuffs in front of me.

“Whenever you’re ready, honey.”

I wanted nothing more to be at his mercy with cold metal bonds, but part of me wanted to take advantage of my temporary freedom and get back at Janice. What were they going to do? Punish me?

I waited until the right moment when he and Ari leapt up in reaction to an unexpected play. I thrust myself toward Janice with my best sly side move from my cheering days and had her face down on the rug. The sound of my takedown and her reaction was absorbed by the rug and covered by our husband’ exclamation and attention to the game.

I began to get as many barehanded slaps on her rear end and lower thighs as I could before the men realized what was happening. By the time Ari pulled me off her, her ass had a nice crimson tone.

“Looking for a little payback, honey, I’m surprised.” Brandon said.

I was equally perplexed by his comment but could not make any headway on finding out what was really going on.

With the men’s desire to watch the rest of the game uninterrupted their paramount concern, Janice and I were both quickly hogtied, side by side on the rug. The only comfort was we were placed safely near the fireplace and could get some of the heat to warm our bare skin. We were far enough from our husbands and their game, I tried to do my best to communicate with Janice, but Ari had really gagged her tight. She offered nothing more than a few obligatory grunts.

At one point, Janice shifted to her side so her back was to me. Normally, in our regular play this was her move to get mischievous, and we would try and work on each other’s ropes. After all that had happened, I did not get that vibe from her. She didn’t try and reach out with her hands; there were no head signals. I knew her well enough that she wanted to be left alone. I stayed on my stomach and tried my best to grind my pussy into the floor. I wished they had given us crotch ropes.

After the game, Brandon took Janice into our bedroom. I felt a little twitch inside. As submissive as I was with my husband, there was still a natural reaction to him taking his ex-girlfriend into our bed, even if she was just as trussed up as I was. While I had been enjoying simmering in my bondage as they watched the game, I was still concerned about what Janice had told me earlier.

Ari undid the ropes connecting my hands and ankles. He turned me over on my back and pulled me up and then lifted me up in his arms. As he carried me to the couch, bound and gagged in his arms, I whimpered so happily. Being under his control now, deflected any jealousy I had toward his wife.

He sat me on his lap and began to put his hands between my legs.

“You really got fucked today, didn’t you.”

I nodded. Both his touch and his words were driving me crazy.

“Think you can make me happy, slut?”

I nodded. I was on the brink again and then he stopped.

“Tell me how much you want to suck my cock.”

I tried my best, but Brandon had secured my ball gag to the last notch on the strap.

He smiled as I gave my garbled best. I knew from previous experience he loved gag talk. Janice said she spent a good deal of time at their home muzzled even when not tied up.

He moved his hand up to my breast. In contrast to how I had been treated so far this football Sunday, his touch was tender and he leaned forward and licked my nipples.

He undid the gag. Again, a large collection of drool dribbled out. He reached over with his finger and started to rub the saliva over my breasts. I said nothing, waiting for his cue.

Ari took me off his lap and sat me on the couch next to him, but he immediately got up and went to the kitchen. “Thirsty? You must be parched.”

“I could go for some water, thank you, Sir.”

He chuckled at my salutation. It was our custom to call our husbands Master and the other man, Sir.

Ari held up a glass of water and straw to my lips. He had no problem finding the straws in our kitchen as we kept a big supply for these situations.

“Enjoying your Sunday?” he asked.

I nodded. After so long being muzzled, it was slightly difficult to get back in the rhythm of regular conversation. My bindings were tight, but it felt sexy sitting next to Ari, my arms and legs bound, having him give me water out of a straw.

“Your plan really worked out.”

“My plan?”

“Yeah, having Janice get out of the tie so she could get you ready for us. That worked out really nice. Especially since we timed it right around half time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw the text messages. You wanted to get totally dominated by Janice and then have us come in. Right?”

“No, not right!” I told him what had happened from my perspective.

“Uh oh.” He stood up and called out to our bedroom. “Janice, you got some ‘splaining to do.”

Brandon poked his head out. “You need your wife, bud? She is a little tied up right now.” I couldn’t help but smile. Some lines never got old.

“Yeah, can you guys come out here, we need to straighten something out.”

Brandon brought Janice out. Her hands were cuffed in front and she was gagged with an inflatable pump gag. I wanted so much to be able to squeeze the rubber ball hanging from her face.

They put her down on the couch next to me. After Ari briefed Brandon they gagged me again with the ball gag. I protested, sincerely, but Brandon shook his finger at me.

“All we need from you two is yes or no, so get over it.”

“Janice,” Ari asked. “Did you fake those text messages.”

She had no response so her husband pumped the rubber ball, increasing the corresponding hollow rubber gag inside her mouth. She whimpered and then nodded her head.

“Man,” Ari turned to Brandon. “That’s pretty devious, even for her. But she does know how to do it from her job.”

Now, Brandon addressed me. “Diana, did you ever give her any hint or reason to think you wanted her to top you?”

I shook my head.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?”

I nodded. I could never lie to Brandon.

“Well, that settles it. Ari, why don’t you and your wife enjoy the ambiance of our living room, I’m going to take my wife into the bedroom.”

“Sounds good, if you think of any appropriate punishment for my wife, just text me.”

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For more domestic high jinks - check out the below tale - free in the archive

Our captured heroine finds herself suspended, bound and gagged after Princess Ayla’s interrogation waiting to learn her fate. With her body sensitized and her will tested, can she navigate the cruel machinations of her sworn enemies – enemies who appear to have hidden feelings.

The cords bit into my wrists. My arms had gone numb an hour ago, maybe longer. The timber frame creaked with every small shift of my weight, and the Binding of the Heart pressed its relentless rhythm between my thighs, the oiled cord sliding against flesh that had grown so sensitized that even my own breathing triggered a pulse of wet heat.

The strict gag my enemies called the Serpent’s Kiss filled my mouth, the bone beads resting against my tongue, the leather strap pulling at the corners of my lips. I hung there, swaying slightly, my toes barely grazing the stone floor, the preparation oil still glistening on my skin, making every brush of air feel like a fingertip.

The chamber door opened. I didn’t lift my head. I kept my eyes half-lidded, my chin dropped to my chest, and I breathed through the gag with slow, measured pulls of air through my nose.

The footsteps that entered were not Ayla’s. Ayla moved with deliberate precision; each step placed like a blade finding its mark. These footsteps were softer, measured differently. A woman’s tread, but heavier, unhurried. A woman who did not need to announce herself.

“The preparation proceeds.” Ayla’s voice. Flat. Clinical.

A pause. Then another voice, low and rich, the kind of voice that had spent years giving commands that were never questioned.

“The preparation proceeds. Is that what you tell me? She hangs here dripping with oil and marked with your little switch, and you call this proceeding?”

The Queen.

I kept my head down. My fingers curled around the cords above, a reflexive grip that I forced myself to loosen. I slowed my breathing further. In through the nose. Out through the nose. The Serpent’s Kiss made each breath a wet, audible thing, and I did not want them to know I was listening.

“She needs three days,” Ayla said. “The oil must saturate. The binding must work its course. The discipline—”

“Three days.”

The Queen’s voice moved closer. I could smell her now, something beneath the oil-and-leather scent of the chamber. A perfume. Not floral. Mineral. Like wet stone after rain. “Three days, and then the ceremony. And you believe she is ready for what the ceremony requires?”

“She will be conditioned.”

“Conditioned.”

The Queen let the word hang. I heard the rustle of fabric, the creak of leather. She was circling me. I could feel her gaze like heat on my skin, tracing the switch marks across my back, the oil-slick curve of my ass, the thick leather cord binding my thighs together, the Binding of the Heart disappearing between them.

“Conditioned is not the same as ready, daughter. You know this.”

A pause. I heard Ayla shift her weight. A small thing, that shift. Ayla did not shift her weight. She was still as stone, always.

“The ritual requires more than conditioning,” the Queen continued. Her voice was closer now, directly behind me. I felt the warmth of her breath near my shoulder blade.

“The Binding of the Heart opens the body. The oil sensitizes the skin. The discipline strips away resistance. But the ceremony—the ceremony requires surrender. True surrender. Not the performed kind.”

“She is strong-willed,” Ayla said.

“She is Kos.”

The Queen said the name of my tribe like she was tasting something bitter.

“The Kos do not surrender. They break. And a broken vessel cannot hold what the ritual pours into it.”

My fingers tightened on the cords for a moment before I forced them loose again. My heart hammered against my ribs, and the Binding of the Heart caught the rhythm, the oiled cord shifting with each pulse, a slow, maddening friction that sent heat pooling in my belly despite everything. I kept my breathing steady. In. Out. In. Out.

“The bloodline matters,” the Queen said. Her voice moved again, circling back toward the door. “Her mother’s line. The Lioness blood. You know this, Ayla. Without the Lioness blood, the ritual is empty theater. With it—”

“With it, the balance shifts.” Ayla’s voice was quieter now. “I know.”

“Then you know why she cannot merely be broken. She must be transformed. She must come to the ceremony wanting what the ritual offers. Craving it.” The Queen’s voice hardened. “If she comes to the altar still fighting, still clenching her jaw behind that gag, still holding herself apart from what is happening to her body, the ritual fails. And if the ritual fails, the Kethrani remain what they have always been. A tribe among tribes. Not what we were. Not what we should be.”

Silence. The chamber held its breath. I held mine.

“The old power,” Ayla said. Not a question.

“The old power. The bond between the Lioness and the land. The covenant that was broken when the tribes split.” The Queen’s voice dropped, and I had to strain to hear through the gag, through the pounding of my own pulse. “The ceremony restores it. But only if the Lioness’s vessel is willing. Only if she opens herself to it completely. Body. Will. All of it.”

My jaw ached around the Serpent’s Kiss. My thighs trembled against the leather cord. The Binding of the Heart pulsed with my heartbeat, and I could feel my own wetness slicking the cord, my body responding to the words even as my mind raced.

The covenant. The old power. The bond between the Lioness and the land. My mother’s bloodline. I was not merely a captive being prepared for display. I was the vessel. The key. The thing that could shift the balance between tribes, that could restore something ancient, something that had been broken when the Kos and the Kethrani split apart.

I was not a prisoner. I was a component.

The Queen’s footsteps moved toward the door. “Three days,” she said. “Make them count. But I will see her myself. Tonight. I want to judge what I am working with.”

“Tonight,” Ayla repeated.

The door opened. Closed. The Queen’s mineral scent faded. Ayla stood in the chamber for a long moment. I heard her breathing, uneven, just slightly. Then she moved to the timber frame. Her fingers touched the cord binding my wrists. She adjusted it, a small correction, and her fingertips lingered on the skin above the binding for a moment longer than necessary.

“You heard,” she said. Not a question.

I did not respond. I kept my head down, my breathing slow, my body limp in the bindings.

Ayla’s hand withdrew. I heard her step back. Then the door opened and closed again, and I was alone.

The chamber was silent. The oil lamp flickered. The timber frame creaked as my weight shifted, my legs trembling, the cords holding me in place. I hung there and I thought.

Feign compliance. Learn more. Find the moment to escape.

The words formed in my mind with the clarity of a battle plan. I had been trained for strategy. I had been trained to assess terrain, to read an enemy’s weaknesses, to strike when the moment was right. The Queen wanted my surrender. She needed it. The ritual required it. That meant I had something she wanted. That meant I had leverage, even bound, even gagged, even hanging from a timber frame with my body slicked with oil and my thighs clamped together and my cunt dripping around a cord that knew exactly how to make me gasp.

I would give her what she wanted to see. Compliance. Softness. The slow unraveling she expected from a captive. And underneath it, I would learn everything I could about this ceremony, this ritual, this old power. And when the moment came, I would use it.

My body sagged in the bindings. The cords held. The Binding of the Heart pulsed. I closed my eyes.

I did not know how long I hung there. The oil lamp burned lower. The chamber grew darker, the shadows pooling in the corners, the timber frame becoming a black skeleton against the dim stone. My body ached. My shoulders burned. My wrists had gone past numb into a dull, throbbing heat.

The switch marks on my back and ass had settled into a low, constant sting, the oil keeping the skin sensitive, every brush of air a fresh whisper of pain-pleasure. The Binding of the Heart worked its slow, patient rhythm between my thighs, and I could feel my own wetness coating the cord, sliding down the leather, making it slicker, making it move more freely, making each pulse sharper, more insistent.

I drifted. Not sleep, not quite. A half-state, my body suspended, my mind turning over what I had heard.

The covenant. The Lioness blood. The old power. My mother’s line. I tried to remember what I knew of the old stories, the ones my mother had told me when I was young. The Lioness and the land. A bond that went deeper than blood, deeper than words. Something that had been broken, and the breaking had made the tribes what they were: divided, diminished, scrabbling for power in the dust when once they had been something more.

The oil lamp guttered. The chamber went dark.

I do not know when I slept. But I must have, because the sound of the door opening jolted me awake, and the chamber had gone cold, the oil on my skin dried to a thin, tight film that made every inch of my body feel like it was wrapped in gossamer.

I kept my eyes closed. My head hung forward, my hair falling around my face. I regulated my breathing. Slow. Even. The breathing of a woman still asleep, or close to it. The Serpent’s Kiss made each breath a soft, wet sound, and I let it be that, let it sound like the deep, unconscious rhythm of a bound woman who had drifted into exhausted sleep.

Two sets of footsteps. One was the Queen’s. I recognized the weight of her tread, the unhurried pace. The other was lighter, hesitant, the sound of bare feet on stone. I heard the soft clatter of bone beads.

“Here.” The Queen’s voice, low and conversational, as though she were showing a guest around her palace. “This is her. The Kos princess. The Lioness’s daughter.”

I heard Darsa’s breath catch behind a bit gag as she stood before me, next to the Queen but muzzled. My old friend - the traitor who betrayed me to the enemy, only to find herself a bound and gagged prisoner given their own distrust and contempt for duplicity.

The bone beads of the gag clacked against her chin, pulling her lips and cheeks back. I closed my eyes and my fingers curled slightly around the cords above, a movement so small it could have been the twitch of sleep.

“Look at her,” the Queen said. Her footsteps circled the timber frame. I felt her presence, the warmth of her body, the mineral scent that I had caught earlier. She was close. Close enough to touch me.

“Look at what Ayla has done with her. The oil. The marks. The binding.” A pause. “She is responsive, I am told. The Binding of the Heart has been working on her all night. She is wet. Aren’t you, princess?”

I did not move. I kept my breathing slow. But I could feel it, the truth of what the Queen said. The cord between my thighs was slick. My body had been responding to the binding for hours, the surrender flower oil saturating my skin, the friction of the oiled cord against my cunt a constant, maddening pressure that I could not escape. My thighs were clamped together by the leather binding, and the cord ran between them, and every breath, every heartbeat, every small shift of my suspended body moved it against me.

“Wake her,” the Queen said.

I felt the point of spear give a light tap to the small of my back.

I lifted my head to look up at them.

The chamber was lit by a single lamp, held by the Queen, who stood three paces away. Her body wrapped in layered robes, her face sharp and angular, her eyes dark and assessing. She watched me the way a hunter watches a beast in a snare, cataloguing every detail, every reaction. Beside her, Darsa stood with her arms tied behind her back, gagged, her hair a matted sweat filled mess.

A female warrior bearing a spear stood to the side holding several coils of rope.

The Queen nodded to her and the warrior had Darsa sit on the floor and began to tie her legs together, with rope brought tightly around her ankles, above and below her knees and her lower and upper thighs.

Darsa’s feet were bare; her body dressed in a simple rough cloth tunic that came to just below her hips. Her eyes met mine as the warrior continued to tie her, and something passed between us, a flicker of recognition, of shared captivity, that I could not quite read.

The warrior looked up at the Queen.

“Finish it,” said the Queen.

Darsa was positioned on her stomach and a coil of rope was tied from her ankles to the ropes around her arms, bringing her legs up and arching her body into a bow. A low moan escaped her gagged lips as the warrior tightened her bonds.

“Good,” the Queen said. She set the lamp on a ledge. The flame cast long shadows across the timber frame, across my body, across Darsa’s form, thoroughly trussed up as captured game from one of our hunts.

“You are awake. And you have been listening.”

My stomach tightened. I kept my face still, my eyes half-lidded, my body limp in the bindings. I shook my head, a small, slow movement. The Serpent’s Kiss creaked in my mouth, the leather shifting against my teeth.

The Queen smiled. It was a thin smile, a predator’s smile, a smile that said she did not believe me for a moment.

“You were awake when Ayla and I spoke. I could tell. Your breathing changed. Your fingers tightened on the cords.” She stepped closer. “Do not insult me by pretending otherwise.”

I held her gaze. The Serpent’s Kiss filled my mouth, the bone beads pressing against my tongue, the leather strap pulling at my cheeks. I could not speak. I could only look at her, my eyes steady, my body still.

“You know what you are,” the Queen said. She reached out and touched my hip. Her fingers were cool and dry against the oil-slick skin. She traced the line of my hip, down toward the leather cord binding my thighs, and then lower, to where the Binding of the Heart disappeared between my legs.

“You are the vessel. The Lioness’s blood. The key to the old covenant.”

Her fingers followed the cord, pressing it against my cunt. I tensed. The cord was slick with my own wetness, and her pressure sent a jolt through me, a pulse of heat that made my thighs clench against the binding. “Your body knows it. The binding has been teaching you all night. Every pulse, every friction, every drop of oil on your skin, it has been preparing you for what the ceremony requires.”

I breathed through the gag. In. Out. My eyes burned. I would not look away.

“The ceremony requires surrender,” the Queen said. She withdrew her hand. “True surrender. Not the kind you are performing now.” She turned to Darsa. “You. Traitor. Look at her.”

Darsa lifted her head as best she could given her position. The bit gag stretched her mouth, the bone beads clacking against her chin. Her eyes were hollow, guarded. She looked at me, and I looked back, and for a moment, the Queen was not there. It was just the two of us, bound and gagged, one suspended and one on her stomach, the princess and the traitor, and something passed between us that I could not name.

“She betrayed you,” the Queen said, watching me. “She sold you to us. And now she lays below you, bound and gagged, her fate as uncertain as yours.” The Queen stepped back, folding her arms. “I brought her here because I wanted to see how you react to her. Whether you would rage. Whether you would weep. Whether you would look at her with hatred or with something else.”

I looked at Darsa. She looked at me. Behind the bit gag, her jaw was tight. Her eyes were steady, but there was something in them, a crack in the hollow mask, a flicker of something that might have been shame, or fear, or the desperate, calculating mind of a woman trying to survive.

I did not rage. I did not weep. I held her gaze, and I let my face be what the Queen wanted to see: open, vulnerable, uncertain. A captive woman looking at the one who had betrayed her and not knowing what to feel. It was not entirely a performance.

The Queen watched us for a long moment. The lamp flickered. The timber frame creaked. The Binding of the Heart pulsed between my thighs, and I could feel my own heat building again, the oil and the cord and the Queen’s fingers having left their mark, my body responding despite my will.

“Interesting,” the Queen said. She stepped forward and reached for the Serpent’s Kiss. Her fingers found the strap at the back of my head. “I am going to remove your gag. You should be honored as I only do that for special captives. But be advised I will not tolerate any insolence. You will give me the respect I deserve as Queen. If you scream, I will have Ayla apply the switch until you cannot stand. Do you understand?”

I nodded. The Serpent’s Kiss shifted in my mouth, the bone beads clicking.

The Queen’s fingers worked the strap. The leather loosened. She pulled the gag free, and the ironwood came out of my mouth in a wet, slick sound, the bone beads trailing across my tongue. My jaw ached. I worked it slowly, the muscles screaming after hours of forced openness. Saliva pooled at the corners of my mouth, and I swallowed, tasting leather and oil.

“Tell me what you heard tonight.”

I hesitated. The Queen watched me. I could lie. I could deny. But she had already told me she did not believe my denials. I thought of the battle plan. Feign compliance. Learn more. Find the moment.

“I heard you speak of the ceremony,” I said. “Of the covenant. The old power. The bond between the Lioness and the land.” My voice was steady and quiet. A captive’s voice, stripped of defiance. “I heard you say I am the vessel.”

The Queen studied me. “And what do you think of that?”

I looked at Darsa. She was watching me, her eyes sharp behind the bit gag. I looked back at the Queen. “I think I do not understand it,” I said. “I think I am bound and gagged and hanging from a frame, and I do not understand what is being done to me or why.”

It was the truth, as far as it went. The Queen heard the truth in it. I saw her eyes soften, just slightly, just enough.

“Then I will tell you,” she said. “Three days from now, at the ceremony, you will be brought before the tribe. The Binding of the Heart will be activated. The oil will have done its work. Your body will be open, ready, willing. And the ritual will be performed.” She paused. “If it succeeds, the covenant is restored. The Lioness’s blood reconnects to the land. The Kethrani become what we were before the split. What your tribe and mine were together, before we broke apart.”

“And if it fails?” I asked.

The Queen’s eyes were flat. “Then nothing changes. And you will have been wasted.”

I swallowed. My throat was dry. The Binding of the Heart pulsed between my thighs, and I could feel my body responding to the Queen’s words, to the idea of being opened, of being willing, of surrendering to something larger than myself. The surrender flower oil had been working on me for hours, and I could feel its effects: a loosening, a softening, a readiness in my body that my mind had not chosen.

I looked at Darsa again. She was watching me with those hollow eyes, and behind the bit gag, I could see her jaw working, the bone beads clacking. She was thinking. Calculating. She was a survivor, and she was looking for her angle, just as I was looking for mine.

“Why is she here?” I asked, nodding toward Darsa.

The Queen glanced at Darsa. “She is here because I want you to see what betrayal looks like. She sold her people for her freedom and wealth, and she did not get it. She is bound and gagged and lying on my floor, and her fate depends on whether the ceremony succeeds.” The Queen looked back at me. “As does yours.”

I held her gaze. My jaw ached. My wrists throbbed. The Binding of the Heart slid against my cunt, slick and hot, and I could feel my own wetness dripping down the cord, pooling against the leather binding my thighs. I was open. I was ready. Not because I chose it, but because the oil and the binding and the hours of suspension had made my body a thing I did not fully recognize.

“Three days,” I said.

“Three days,” the Queen confirmed. She lifted the Serpent’s Kiss. “Open your mouth.”

I complied and the Queen placed the ironwood between my teeth, the bone beads settling against my tongue, and drew the strap tight behind my head. The leather bit into my cheeks. My jaw stretched. The gag sealed my mouth, and I was silent again.

The Queen stepped back. She looked at me, then at Darsa, then at me again. “Sleep,” she said. “Tomorrow, Ayla continues your preparation. And I will visit again.”

She picked up the lamp and walked to the door. She did not look back. The door opened, and light spilled into the chamber, and then it closed, and the chamber was dark again.

Darsa was still kneeling on the stone floor.

I looked at her through the dimness. She was looking up at me, her arms and legs bound together, the bit gag stretching her mouth, the bone beads hanging against her chin. The lamp had gone with the Queen, and the chamber was lit only by the faint glow seeping under the door. I could barely see her face, but I could feel her eyes on me, and I knew she was thinking.

I hung there, suspended, bound, gagged, my body aching and slick and throbbing with the aftermath of everything that had been done to it.

We were both captives. We were both keys to something we did not fully understand. And we were both thinking, calculating, looking for the angle that would let us survive.

The bone beads clacked against Darsa’s chin. A small sound in the darkness. I could not tell if it was a signal, a warning, or just the unconscious movement of a jaw that had been stretched around a bit gag for too long.

I closed my eyes. The Binding of the Heart pulsed. The oil tightened on my skin. The cords held me in place. And in the darkness, Darsa breathed, and I breathed, and the chamber held us both in its low-ceilinged, timber-framed grip, and I thought about the covenant, and the old power, and the ceremony that was three days away, and the fact that my body was already halfway to surrender whether I chose it or not.

The bone beads clacked again. I kept my eyes closed.

And waited.

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