Nerves. That feeling in the pit of his stomach, reminding him he was about to do something exciting. The Domme's house was in a plush corner of town, perhaps unsurprisingly. He rang the doorbell and waited, excitement mounting. He'd come this far, he'd be an idiot to back out now.

She answered the door herself, which was reassuring as he wasn't sure he felt comfortable with other people around, however open-minded they may be. She certainly wasn't ugly, neither was she anything particularly special to look at, but it was the glint in her eye that really fired his imagination. She seemed very relaxed and at ease with herself as though she'd done this many times before – she hopefully had. ‘Come through to the playroom' she said with a reassuring smile, as he shut the front door firmly behind himself.

Her website had stressed that she would not discuss specific scenes with clients, insisting that filling out the questionnaires as honestly and fully as possible would guarantee ‘satisfaction'. To clear up a few grey areas, there had been some email communication that set the blood pumping. ‘Are you sure you want three hours?' she had asked. First-timers usually asked for a shorter session. He had felt that if he was going to take the plunge, it may as well be worth his while. She also wanted to know what sort of marks he would be willing to allow her to inflict on him. On the questionnaire he had written that he did not want his skin to be broken, but she also wanted to know how long other marks could remain. ‘What allergies do you have?' she had asked him. All of this served to heighten his anticipation of the big day.

The playroom was comfortable. That's the best word he could find to describe its carpeted and soft-furnished appearance. Of course, he was sure some of the not-so-soft-furnished items on the far side would be less comfortable, but nevertheless, it didn't have anything of the dungeon about it. It was clearly her living room. ‘There's a bathroom through there where you can take a shower if you like.' She said. ‘You can put on a bathrobe when you're done. I'm going to make a cup of coffee – would you like some?' It was all very well being relaxed and laid-back, but he didn't feel right sitting around drinking coffee with this woman. Besides, with all the adrenaline racing around his bloodstream, he didn't really need the caffeine as well.

He did take a shower though, hoping that she wasn't including it in the three fairly pricey hours. He was quick to get changed and showered, feeling clumsy in his haste to get on with the main event. He took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door, wearing the bathrobe provided. She was sitting at a table, drinking her coffee, listening to classical music. ‘Ready?' she asked. ‘Yes, I think so' he replied. Then her manner seemed to change slightly. She became more business-like. ‘Come over here then' she said. He walked over to stand next to her. ‘Clasp your hands behind your back.' He did as he was told. ‘Look up at the ceiling' she ordered. He felt the cord of the bathrobe loosen, and the front fell open slightly. He felt the cool air on his front, and his penis started to rise. She stood up and gently pushed the bathrobe over his shoulders until it fell to the ground, only held by his clasped hands. ‘Drop it' she said firmly. She stooped to pick it up, and walked away behind him to the other side of the room, leaving him standing there with his eyes on the ceiling and his penis horizontal. She returned quickly, and she fitted a heavy padded leather blindfold around his head. She took his hands and placed a small object in each. ‘Those are for your ears' she said. ‘Squeeze them to push the air out, put them in your ears, and they'll expand to fit the space' she explained, matter-of-factly. He did as she had said, and found that he could still hear quite a lot, but when she turned up the music he found it very hard to hear much else. With one hand on his arm and one on his backside, she pushed him firmly to indicate that he was to move. It was exhilarating, being led around in the dark like this, unable to really hear. When she stopped him, she spun him a little to position his back against a leather surface. He had seen all of the play furniture, but couldn't immediately work out which he was next to. Her feet against his ankles motioned him to separate his legs, not enough to be uncomfortable, but not far short. He felt straps tighten on each ankle, holing them in place. Her hand on his throat pushed him back. He resisted at first, not knowing that there was anything behind to support him. She increased the pressure on his throat and he reluctantly leaned back to find a padded back-rest at what felt like a forty-five degree angle to the floor. He relaxed onto it, as she pulled straps over his stomach and chest. Finally, she put a strap around each wrist, pulled his hands down past his sides, and stretched each as far back up towards his head as they would reach. Something was attached and he was fixed there, feeling very vulnerable, and extremely aroused. Warm breath played against his ear, and over the music he heard her say loudly ‘Good luck, your time starts now'.

Nothing was happening yet. Where was she? How long had it been since she had spoken to him. It couldn't have been more than two minutes he thought. It amazed him how things became so difficult to judge, blindfolded and strapped against the frame. He jumped as he felt her brush against one of his nipples. It came again, the intense pleasure she was causing him wouldn't be lost on her at all. He began to realise the implications of having filled in the questionnaire so honestly. She knew more about him sexually than anybody else had ever known. She could toy with him at will now, pushing his buttons as she wished. It seemed to go on for ages. She would tease one nipple, and then leave it to work on the other. She worked in an unhurried manner, filling him with an unfulfilled desire for more. As the effect began to diminish, she began to work on both at once. He struggled in is bonds as she drove him wilder and wilder. She had hardly touched him yet and he wasn't sure he could take much more. Then she was gone for a moment. He felt her carefully wrap something around his chest. It was like a thin plastic sheet, and it clung to his body tightly. Then she was at the nipples again, there were obviously holes in the plastic. All of a sudden his nipple was stung. It was not unbearably painful, but it got his attention. It was only the nipple that she stung, he gasped as the other nipple received the same treatment. He guessed what she was doing. It was a stinging nettle! She repeatedly applied the nettles to his nipples. After each initial sting there came a very intense tingling sensation that inflamed and aroused his nipples. She left him there for a while, moaning and writhing. She no longer needed to even touch him and he was in an agony of erotic need.

He felt her breath against his ear again. ‘That's enough noise from you' she said loudly so he could hear. ‘If you're this noisy so early on, I'm going to have to do something.' He felt the rubber ball against his lips, and opened to let her fix the gag in place. Then he felt it. The stinging nettle brushed against the head of his penis once, twice, three times, then nothing for a few moments. This was different. The pain was more intense there somehow, perhaps because through everything so far, she hadn't touched his penis at all until now. Then it was against the inside of his legs. For several minutes, she explored all the sensitive areas of the front and sides of his body, even revisiting his nipples from time to time, still throbbing tantalisingly, reminding him of his arousal and vulnerability to her wicked imagination. Finally, she paused. He felt her undo all the straps holding him. She turned him around, and fastened him face-first against the frame. His legs were spread exactly as before, but his penis now jutted out underneath the frame and his arms were secure in front of him. Then there was nothing again. She disappeared. Despite the tingling in his nipples and other areas, his penis began to droop. It was at this point that he realised his predicament. As his penis lowered, it brushed against something and felt the familiar stinging sensation. Immediately his penis jumped back to life, as if to save itself from the torturous plant. But she didn't come to rescue him and eventually his penis started to lower again. Unable to see, he couldn't really tell how far away he was at any time from being stung, but his penis let him know each time he arrived there. This was delicious torture, and although he wished at every moment that it would stop, he hoped equally strongly that it would not. She left him there for a long time, swinging between being fully erect and getting stung back to full arousal. As time wore on the stinging became more frequent, and his penis eventually came to a rest on top of the plant below him.

At this point she decided to add a new dimension. She nudged something against his anus. With him bent over the frame and starting to feel a little tired, she found little resistance to the butt plug as she slid it inside him. The plug was well-designed, and it put pressure on all the right places. His penis came back to life as she unbuckled the straps holding him down. She led him over to a padded massage bench, with a hole at one end for the face, strategically placed for the client to lie face down. This bench had a difference though, in that there was another hole for the client's genitals to hang though. His blindfold was removed, but the earplugs were not, and she strapped him face down onto the bench, clipping the cuffs on his wrists together behind his back. She fixed his legs in place too, and pulled a trap over his head, holding it there looking down at the floor. She playfully slapped him on the behind a few times, just at the tops of his legs – an area that had not escaped the attention of her devious nettles earlier, and had been made all the more sensitive for it. Then she pushed a clock under the bench into his field of view. He could see that about one hour had passed, but he didn't see the true implication of her action at first. He felt her oiled hand on his penis as she slowly stroked, lightly at first. Ten minutes passed and her touch was so light. He knew he needed more to orgasm, but he needed it so badly. After about twenty minutes she still hadn't changed her stroke, but he was getting close to cumming. It was going to be amazing, he could tell. The ceaseless, glorious, unrelenting stimulation took him closer and closer to ecstasy. He was in heaven, this woman was amazing. How had he not discovered her before? As the pleasure climaxed, her strokes remained the same, he took in a deep breath through his nose and clamped down on the ball-gag. Three, two, one… Then she stopped stroking. He couldn't believe it! His anger was intense. How could she do this to him? It was so cruel. He had been on the very verge of the best orgasm of his life and she had stopped. Did she not know? Then he realised with a sense of dread mixed with excitement that, of course, this devilish Domme did know exactly what she was doing. Twenty-five minutes had passed, and there was over an hour and a half left. Her hand returned. It only took three minutes this time before he was straining for release, his penis twitching in the empty air, unable to achieve its goal. After half an hour he had lost count of the number of times she had taken him to the edge and back. Desire gave way to frustration, and frustration gave way to despair. Long before the third hour of his ordeal was up he wished that it would stop. He would gladly have walked away without an orgasm at all at that point, just to avoid the torment of another denied orgasm. About ten minutes before his time was up she finally changed from the slow teasing strokes. She held something against his stiff penis and he felt her wrap something around the penis, holding the object firmly in place against it. She took a handful of his hair and pulled his face up placing a pillow underneath his chin to hold his head up. She pulled out the earplugs and sound washed over him. In her calm voice she made it clear to him. ‘If you close your eyes other than to blink, you will not cum at all' she said. Taking the gag out she asked him what he would be prepared do to be allowed to cum. He replied ‘anything' and he almost meant it. ‘Would you like to eat your cum?' she enquired. He nodded, just hoping that she would finally give him release soon. She leaned across to the table next to her and did something that made the object his penis was attached to begin to vibrate. The sensation was pleasant, but still not enough to make him cum. His need built up and built up over several minutes, his hope rekindled by this change in approach. ‘Keep looking at me' she said sternly, fixing my eyes with hers. It was uncomfortable, staring at her like that, but he forced himself to do it, spurred on by the need to finally achieve the orgasm he so urgently needed. Then she slid her hand under his chest, each set of fingers seeking out an engorged nipple, still tingling from the nettles. This was it, he thought. The sensations built up dramatically, the fingers now squeezing cruelly at his nipples, the vibrator unrelenting at his penis, and her stern gaze on his. Then it was on him. Wave after wave of pleasure hit him, never once breaking his eye contact with her. It was unbearable, it was incredible, it was longer than he ever thought possible, and it made him vow that he would be back for more. Even as he was coming down, and she was spooning his cum into his mouth from a plastic container that must have been carefully positioned below him, he knew that he wanted more, and all he could say was ‘thank you'.