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BONDAGE BREAKUP
Synopsis: A couple break up after an intense BDSM relationship. She asks him for some of their toys and restraints- he agrees on the condition that she can only take those sex toys and outfits that she can manage to wear, fit or strap onto herself in one go for her last bondage and orgasm filled trip home! A tale of 3 parts.
Author: Voyeur21.
This is my first story, so any comments, ideas, criticism or feedback is welcome. If this gets you off or if it leaves you cold, let me know either way as its hard to work in a vacuum. You can reach me at CatGreenwood80@gmail.com
Part 1- Breakup Conversations
Well it was over. At last she'd broken it off with him. No more them, no more John and Anna.
No more boyfriend/girlfriend, Master/loveslave.
No more D/s.
It wasn't a easy decision. She'd wrestled with it, agonised over it, cried herself to sleep over it. It's not that she didn't care about him. Christ, how she felt about him- sometimes it overwhelmed her. The stuff she'd done for him- even got her tongue pierced as a birthday gift for him - just for his pleasure (she didn’t mind so much, she could always take the bar out for work) And fuck, the sex had been good- awesome, Cosmo-quality orgasms even. How her back had arched, toes curled and hands clawed against her ropes as he brought her to orgasm after crashing orgasm, till she was limp and boneless from pleasure. But she had to make a change. They wanted different things. He wanted to go further, deeper into BDSM. She wanted something more - maybe kids in a year or two, a wedding. But could he ever respect her as mother of his children after he'd pissed in her mouth?
And then there was the cage. A degradation too far. She knew his fantasies and desires well enough by then, when he bought that metre square cage over her protests. Put her in a tiny cage. Break her with confinement, boredom and cramping joints. Then have her watch from her cage in the corner of his bedroom as he fucked some new prospective slave, letting her out to tongue clean them both in relief. He wanted 2 slaves to wait on him hand and foot. Blow him and rim him simultaneously. Two girls to play his kinky games with- forcing them to les it up and go bi. Well she wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t share him. If she wasn’t slave enough for him alone, then she wouldn’t stay. She wanted to be a couple, not a trio.
They hadn't quite been living together then. She still had her own place- a shared flat with 6 people, but most nights and every weekend she'd end up over at his grand, 3 storey manor. He had it all to himself, even turned a basement room into a dungeon- a place she'd always associate with sharp pain and mind-blowing orgasms. He was rich, a banker - he made more in a day than she did in a week. She was a librarian, literate but poor, especially with all the local services cuts coming. He'd often offered to take care of her, let her move in, be his slave-girlfriend 24/7 but she'd always clung onto that last piece of independence- her job and her room.
Then there was the BDSM itself. They'd started off as vanilla lovers, having met randomly in a cinema queue. He was a few years older than her, but charming, distinguished. Funny, but controlling. She had felt safe with him. But he'd had a massive kinky side, as she soon learned. Not that she didn’t have some kink in her- she'd always liked her boyfriend to pin her hands above her head as they fucked. But John had started using cuffs, so he could better tease and torment her body and use his hands to pluck, stoke and rub other parts of her body. She'd liked that - the security of restraint, the comfort of his arms around her, telling her to do, absolved of all responsibility, of all guilt.
He had a method to get her to agree to anything, to each further step down the path to slavery. He'd tie her down, suckle and caress her breasts, trail his fingertips down her sides and flanks, ravage her with kisses and hot breath and licks on her ears, before working down to her thighs- teasing and stroking around her pussy, before going in to kiss, lick, suck and probe her clit and hole with fingers, tongue and toys. She loved it- her body loved it. She'd moan and twist, straining to close her legs around his head, to push herself against his lips. Then as the pleasure grew, she'd start to tense, her breathing interrupted, as she fell closer and closer towards ecstasy, her whole body ready to explode!
And then he's pull away - lighten his touch to feather light, circle his tongue tip *around* her clit rather than touch it directly, and slow the pace of his probing fingers inside her wet pussy. She'd still be turned on as hell, but denied her climax. She'd shout and scream, curse him and beg for her orgasm. Then he might keep her motors running and slowly increase the pace of his touches and teasing till she thought she might tip over the edge once more- only for him to stop at the crucial moment. The ropes and cuffs would sing and groan as she tried to tear herself free in frustration. It was uncanny at how good he was in judging how close she was to orgasm - he claimed it could tell just by listening to her breathing- her lungs would just stop moving on the edge.
Then he'd repeat the tease-denial cycle for a third time and she'd agree to anything if only she could just CUM! That’s how she wound up sucking him awake every morning for a month as his 'oral alarm-clock', or agreeing to crawl around in a French maids uniform and clean his house every evening. Its how she would agree to his sadistic games and humiliations, and how she agreed to try anal for the first time or be fucked naked against a floor to ceiling window in a 5th floor hotel room. Its how she agreed to wear his collar at weekends and be his slave- patiently sucking him off, hands cuffed behind her as he watched the news or football match. (God, how he loved blowjobs!) Its how she became intimately acquainted with nipple clamps, vibrators, ass-plugs, chastity belts and arm binders. He'd dress her up in fantasy outfits, corsets, uniforms and straps and ravage her, going around the world on her holes. He seemed fascinated by her reactions- intrigued when he mixed the pain of a slap or cut of the cane with the pleasure of a kiss or a stroke to her clit.
As a woman of her word, she'd normally go along with this- occasionally she'd baulk at what her orgasm denied brain had consented to- then he'd laugh, smile, kiss and cuddle her into trying it anyway, and if that didn’t work then he'd throw her down spread-eagled, tie down her wrists and ankles and start tickling - the stick to his former carrot. She'd be weeping and wracked with laughter- so tickled that her nerves overloaded and it became painful. She'd shriek and scream amongst her tickle-elicited giggles till she couldn’t stand it anymore and did what he wanted. What else could she do? It wasn’t like he was beating her into submission - she couldn't go to the police and say she was being tickled into unwanted sex? But more than that, she didn’t really want to - she did love him, and he cared and provided for her. And he was always attentive and loving - its just that she could never say "No" to him. He dominated her life, shaped it around his convenience, wormed away at giving up her job and flat and taking the next step together, not husband and wife, but master and slave, 24/7. And she'd come close to agreeing. But then came the cage, and her terrible, heartbreaking, impossible decision.
But she'd made it and told him. At least she hadn't got the tattoo he'd been talking about- his mark on nape of her shoulder for him to nuzzle as he took her from behind and a tramp-stamp to read "TAKE ME HARD AND FAST" with an arrow down to her butt crack. She'd got out- relatively unmarked at least, and still with most of her twenties ahead of her. She was leaving him, leaving the best sex of her life, leaving the toys and moments that had given her such forbidden pleasure and the man who'd inflicted them on her. And he wasnt happy with her.
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"Well I think that's everything. Clothes from the dresser, shoes, toothbrush and makeup from the bathroom." He was matter of fact. Brusque. Hiding his pain and rejection behind cold fury and icy politeness.
"And the photos?"
"Destroyed". She only had his word for that but she could keep an eye on some of the amateur porn or revenge sites he favoured...
"Is there anything else" he almost spat.
"Well... I was wondering about...." she lingered, unable to formulate her meaning
"What?! Spit it out" he ordered
"Well I was thinking about the... the 'toys'? Whether I could have some? Take some with me, if you are not using them?... Please!" she added quickly.
"Ah. Our toys. My toys you mean" He pondered for a moment. She could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes.
"They are quite expensive you know. Leather goods, latex, specialist orders. Made to measure. I could give you a good price- about three grand?" he offered, knowing she didn’t have the money.
"I don’t have that much. But wont you have to get rid of them anyway? No... other girl is going to want something that’s already been inside me."
"And how do you know they haven’t already been in someone else?" He shot back with the viciousness of a spurned lover.
She had nothing to say. The insult of it reeling in her. How could he say that, the bastard?! New pain radiated through her. But then she collected herself. Mastered her anger and stayed on focus.
"Because I know you. And I know you wouldn't want to be reminded of me- not with someone new."
"Then why do you want them?"
"I thought maybe I could play with them myself. I loved how they made me feel. Give me something to remember the good times with. And we did have some good times. Give me something to remember you by" - she appealed to his vanity, his ego. His weak spot.
"Well maybe. But what do I get out of it? I'll be losing a fortune. But how about one last... game?"
"A game?" Fuck that could mean anything. But it was always sexual or dominant with him. His 'games' had her streaking down the street at midnight, naked apart from a butt plug and nipple-clamped bells on her tits, hoping no one would be looking out their window to spot the jingling. Or the time they'd gone on an organised art gallery tour with a remote controlled vibe locked inside her, making her orgasmically gasp every time they came to an Old Master, praying the rest of the group wouldn’t hear the buzzing or her muffled grunts.
"Sure. How about you come back this weekend? You are mine for the weekend. Call it a good bye session. You know what they say- ex-sex is the best. And I'll re-acquaint you with every single toy we have and a few ideas I never got to try. Then you can pick your favourite toys and wear them out of here. But only what you can fit on, around or inside your body. I'll lock 'em onto you and drive ahead to drop the keys off through your letter box. You make your way home. But no taxis, eh?"
"Usual safe word and rules?"
"Naturally."
"OK, but I get to pick the toys, and the order and way you put them on?"
"Done. We have a deal. See you Friday"
She turned to go when he said:
"And Anna? Remember to wear your tongue stud".
End of Part 1.
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