The Waiting Room

It seemed simple enough... show up at the agreed upon address, let myself in, strip, and wait as appropriate "As appropriate" had never made much sense to me.  I hadn't taken her for being a form oriented domme, expecting me be to kneeling in supplication, palms up or hands behind my back, prefacing any and all responses with "Yes, Mistress."  I am a bottom, fairly dominant in my life, desiring experiences of erotic sensation, most all forms, sensuality to pretty severe, a penchant for predicaments, with basic safe, sane, consensual limits; no scat, nothing permanent, or for that matter no marks that might last more than a day or two.  And, no identifying images.

I entered the room and found it white, almost stark white; a room maybe 30' x 30' square, with a ceiling hidden in blackness behind the bright, drop lights.  And hot.  It must have been about 80-85 degrees, when a normal room would have been kept around 70-72.  Stripping then, was not going to cause me any chill discomfort.  I guess I wouldn’t need a lot of warming up.

There, at the far end of the room, was my answer to "as appropriate".  Bolted to the floor with a very short length of chain were a pair of padded ankle cuffs; hanging from the ceiling were a pair of steel/chrome metal gloves that would cover up to the mid-forearm and a heavy leather helmet; and, sticking out of the wall, just over 5-feet high, was a metal rod with a large red rubber gag on a post, straps loosely hanging from either side.  It didn't take my genius to determine what "as appropriate" meant, or the order in which it would have to happen.

Quickly stripping, I folded my clothes and set them off to the side, well out of the way.  In the process, I noticed there were outlines for my feet, just under where the ankle cuffs had been meticulously laid out, spaced about a foot apart, but also with the toes practically touching the wall.  The padding in the ankle cuffs hardly made sense, for running right through the center, all the way around, was a half-inch wide band of metal.  I was happy it didn't pinch or bind as I pulled the strap tight.  It was awkward putting on the second one because I was pressed up against the wall, having to bend sideways, balance, and strap on the cuff.

The helmet would be next.  I'd never worn a full helmet like this one.  It was awfully heavy, a zipper from crown to collar, with straps that seemed overkill, blacked out eye-pieces, breathing holes for nose and mouth, and even an attached collar that would wrap around and buckle tight.  Attachment points included a D-ring on top where it was currently suspended and several around the collar.  A second set of straps running from the chin would connect up at the top of the head and lock the jaw tightly shut - at least once the gag was inserted.  And of course, it would take care of the de-personalizing any video or images she might choose to take.

Once that would be done, there'd be no real movement and I'd have to blindly slide my hands into those gloves.  Aha, there's the final catch, it looks like the straps around the wrists, holding up the gloves, would pull tight with just a little downward pull, and in that case, I won't be getting out until she decides to let me out.

Trust, that's what it comes down to, doesn't it?

Do I trust her enough to submit, to stretch out and be vulnerable?

Her taking pleasure was a given.  But, will she play with me, yet care for me? 

OK then, one last look for placement and then the final commitment. 

Hood on.  Perhaps instinctually I close my eyes, yet still a slight claustrophobic feeling, alleviated by the air flow through the nose and mouth.  Initially cool to the touch, it warms up quickly as I zip it close.  I hold steady as I strap the double-width collar closed.  Slowly I find the gag, positioning my mouth over it and close my mouth as if scuba diving, but now with limited air through my nostrils.  I pause, experiencing the sensations... adjusting, and finally accepting.  The straps from the ball gag wrap around the back of my head, the buckle fastening tightly, yet easily. I bring the chin straps up to the top of my head, just behind the supporting top ring, and fasten them tight and secure.

Finally, the gloves.  They are almost anti-climatic as I gently find them, slide my hands up, and curl my fingers into the mated holes.

And "wait as appropriate."  One minute... two... three...

OW... the sensation reached my brain about the same time as the muffled flogger thud and the light at the back of my eyes.  My body was literally pushed by the flogger and I jerked reflexively, swinging my arms, causing the straps around my wrists to pull taught.  My head pulled and I guess I bit down.  I'm not quite sure what, but whatever it is I did caused the gag to inflate.  For a second I felt like I was sucking back in the air from a half-filled balloon.  But then the jaw straps went taught, my tongue depressed and pushed back, and my mouth and teeth felt the outward pressure of the gag before the contrasting constraining pressure of the hood.

It became clear why the hood had to be made of such heavy leather and I hit the point very early in this session at which I pondered the question, "Just what have I gotten myself into."

"Welcome pet," sounded the sultry voice in the center of my head.  Telepathy?  No, just hidden head-phones built into the hood.  "I'm glad you've come to stay with me for awhile," her smile clearly coming through the speakers.  "I hope you are going to enjoy this as much as I am."

"Are you comfortable?"  "Ahwhwah," wasn't my most articulate response, but she saved me.  "Yes, I see, you'll just have to find another way to 'talk' to me."  With the seeming joy of a small child and all the malice of a domme who knew exactly what she was doing, she sweetly suggests, "I know, you can just squeeze your butt cheeks.  One for no, two for yes.  Let's try it again, are you OK."

One, two.  With a hearty open-handed slap to my right cheek, she exclaims, "Excellent."  "Ohh, nice color."

"Now, you remembered what we talked about right?"

We talked about several things.  Which?  Doesn't really matter... One, two. 

"Good; that's right, personal responsibility.  Everything you do has consequences.  Everything that happens here is by your choice."

"Now, let's see just how well you've fastened yourself..."  In the ensuing quiet, I feel her first at my right hand, curling it slightly tighter.  Unbeknownst to me, at that point, she clipped the fingers down; such that, like a monkey with a fist in a coconut, I will never get my hands out of those gloves without her intentionally releasing me.  I also feel greater pressure around my wrist, as the slip tightened straps are now made fast.  As she repeats the process with my left hand, it occurs to me she is either quite tall or has found a step stool (which was not present when I entered).

Next come the ankles, which like the wrists, are pulled tighter still.  Putting them on was awkward, so I don't feel too bad that she is able to tighten them.  But then I feel her presence at the back of the helmet.  The outer edges of my lips start to pull back, jamming the gag further back in my mouth - which up to a moment ago I would have thought impossible, but perhaps worse was my new rictus grin stretching back ear to ear.

One, I clench, to no effect.  One...  One...

"Oh stop that silly, you're in no pain.  You can't be that soft."  To which I earn a solid open-handed slap to my other cheek.  "Now, not another "word".  Reaching around me, she gently caresses my chest, slowly circling my pecks, zeroing in on my left nipple, lightly rolling it between her fingertips and ooouch.  Nothing but nails.

I feel her pressure against my jugular as she slides in one, then two fingers.  The silence is broken with an almost inaudible, "Tsk, tsk."  As with the straps to the gag, I feel the collar pull tighter, and tighter still.  With asphyxiation only one or two more notches away, she fastens the collar in place, apparently no longer able to find an extra finger's width of space.

I hear the satisfaction in her voice as she comments, "Purrrfect..."  Almost reminds me of the original Catwoman.  Maybe that’s where it started for me.  It is a little eerie not being able to locate her relative position, just that sound seemingly from the center of my head.  "Almost...", as the floor on which I'm standing starts to split apart, widening my stance.

With my mouth at a fixed height, I have two choices, begin to rise up onto the balls of my feet, or, take the little available slack in my body and lift my chin.  I explore both options, as my stance continues to expand, first rising up on my toes, giving her a good look at my runner's calves.  Ok, not so bad.  Unconsciously I let my heels drop back down, and am forced to raise my chin.  But almost the instant I do, she smacks my inner thighs with a crop of some sort.  I may be thick at times, but I was back on my toes before the sting had time to subside.  And gratefully the leg spreading stopped, but it was a bit of a strain to be up on my toes like that.

The next surprise followed moments after my stance stabilized, as I felt her pulling on my testicles.  She pulls/pushes first one, then the other through a metal O-ring.  Then she separates my balls and presses them back against the ring. Luckily, not crushing pressure, but enough to be quite uncomfortable.  And then I feel a steady pressure as they are pulled down and back.

"Remember, what happens here is up to you.  Don't move.  I'll be back in a bit.”  What a fabulous voice.

And back to wait as appropriate, in silence.  One minute... two... three...  more...

Ah... I am not used to spending so long on my toes.  It gets tiring.  Not consciously, well, maybe, I let my heels fall.  Holy crap, oouch, my testicles!  What was that?  But, I'm back on my toes while I figure it out.  I jumped so high up on my toes that the scrotum tie-down pulls taught, limiting my height with a painful reminder.  I might have guessed a violet wand, but when my heels hit the floor, the electric jolt came directly up from the floor.  I suppose up one leg, through my testies, and back down the other leg.  Who the heck rigs up that kind of contraption!

Waiting... The one good thing about having my arms bound is that I can periodically take some weight off my legs.

Click; a feeling, rather than the sound, and my testicles are pulled more tightly downward.  Now I have not only my legs to rest, but the persistent pull on my scrotum.

Waiting... Click.  My balls are tugged, my feet come down, electricity comes up, my testies in a bug zapper.  I jerk up... too far, crushing my balls.  I come down... zap... and up... and squeeze... and steady...

Waiting... Straining.  Finding the least uncomfortable position between the burning sensation in my calves and the self-castration of my balls pulled straight off my body.  I had said I liked predicament games, proving the point that I am responsible for the predicament I find myself in.  And now I stand here waiting for what comes next.