An Unexpected Master
  • Author - Dawn
  • Rating -   
  • Site Rank - 2707 of 2955
  • Story Codes - M-f, non-consensual, bondage, extreme, humiliation, slavery, torture, tricked
  • Post Date - 11/19/2020

Author's Note: Dawn is tricked into being the slave of a Master she has never met.


Part 1

I never thought what I had done to my husband would come back to haunt me. Yes, I had a boyfriend for 2 years, fucking him every possible way, cutting my husband out, but still, when it finally was over, when I finally got caught, and we reconciled a few weeks later, I thought it was over. Yes, I had agreed to do several things I was not very interested in doing myself, but I had gotten used to them. I really didn't expect my infidelity to ever come back to light again, other than in the occasional fight with Charles. I was wrong.

Years later, I was minding my own business one day on a Sunday afternoon when an email came in from an unfamiliar name. Looking at in on my iPhone, it had a pornographic picture of a nude woman laying on a bed with a vibrator sticking out of her. I deleted it, not really looking at it.

The next day, another one arrived. Similar picture. Something was written there, but I ignored it again, just hitting delete. I get a lot of spam email, and it seems the more I report it as spam, the more I get.

The next day, Tuesday, everything changed. Another email came in, but the picture caught my eye. This time the woman wasn't nude. She was wearing a bright red corset with black lace. The picture was obviously a selfie done with a bathroom mirror. Her face was out of frame, but her blonde hair and large breasts were prominent, and so was a certain necklace she was wearing. It all looked familiar. The picture focused immediately in my mind. It was me.

I had taken that picture myself for my boyfriend, several years before. I hadn't seen it in years. Reading the email for the first time, I saw the words: "Dawn - I know what you are. Answer me."

To say I was freaked out is meaningless. I collapsed onto a the floor, terrified. Who was this? How did he get that picture? What was happening here? The fear overwhelmed me for several minutes, until I realized I had to know more about what was happening to me.

I went back into my deleted emails, looking for the first two. When I found them, I realized what I had missed. The first photo had been taken by my boyfriend one day when we met at a hotel for a day of fun. I had let him take pictures, with the agreement he didn't show my face. I had thought that, even had they gotten out in public, I could easily deny that a faceless girl was me.

The second one was also me. He had taken it the same day. In this one, I was lying on my back, totally nude, my shaved pussy center frame, again showing my (then) 34D breasts and blonde hair. Someone who didn't already know it was me would never have known, but I knew.

Both emails had the same message, the same as the first: "I know what you are. Answer me." Someone else knew it was me in the pictures too. I was paralyzed by fear.

What did this person want? How did they get these pictures? How did they find out it was me? How did they find me? I had no answers. I sat on the floor most of the day while I was supposed to be working, terrified beyond all measure. Nothing made sense here. It took me hours, but finally, I decided there was nothing to be done but to answer.

I really didn't want to answer, but I couldn't see any way out. Surely, if I didn't send a reply, sooner or later, these pictures, and others I realized this mysterious person also probably had, would be publicly posted on the internet, probably with my name attached. I couldn't risk that. The only option was to answer and hope for the best.

I sat down at the computer and tried out lots of answers. After an hour, I finally settled on the simple one. One sentence: "What do you want?" I sat for fifteen minutes before I finally tapped "Send".

It took an hour before my phone pinged. It might have been the longest hour of my life until that moment. I really didn't know what to do with myself. I just sat there, staring into space, not focused on anything. Just frightened beyond anything I had ever felt. Something terrible was happening, and I had no control over it.

The sound startled me from my reverie. Snatching my phone up, I saw the response. I didn't focus on the words at first. All I saw was the picture attached.

It had been taken at the same time as the first two. I was lying on my back, nude, pleasuring myself with a vibrator. You could see how big my breasts really were. But unfortunately, there was something else: I could see my face, or at least part of it. There was enough there that someone who knew me casually, if my name was attached, would have been able to identify me. That would tie all the other pics to me as well, as they were obviously the same woman. I knew my goose was cooked.

The message with the picture was even more frightening. "I want you. Your boyfriend carelessly left these pics and all your emails where I could get them. I took the time to track you down and like what I see. Just do what you are told." There was a break, followed by these words: "Now, go to the bathroom and take a selfie exactly as you are now. Send it to me."

The fear ramped up to a whole new level. You see, as part of my deal with Charles, I had agreed to change myself. If he had divorced me, I would have had to pay him a ton of money. He had supported me all through school, paying my whole cost - tuition, books, my apartment, the car...everything. So I had stayed. He could have ruined me, especially if word of my affair had gotten out and destroyed my career. But there was a price I paid.

I had agreed to do two things. First, I had my breasts enlarged. 600cc into Ds makes for 34Gs. They were now huge. Second, I took care of my appearance all the time. I worked out at least once a day. I had dropped every excess pound, had even a flatter stomach than when I was in school, and looked awesome. 5 foot flat, 105 pounds, 34G-20-28. I knew what I looked like. I also knew what it would do to my stalker.

Worse yet, I had just gotten back from the gym when this all started. I was wearing a black sports bra from Victoria Secret, trimmed in gold, with matching yoga pants, and that was it. I had pulled my hair down when I got home, so I couldn't have shown myself off much better without working at it. Why couldn't I have been in yardwork clothes?

I didn't know what else to do other than give the bastard what he wanted. A delay to change could be a real problem. Somehow he would know. There was no way out. I got up and headed for the bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I saw a beautiful blonde, enormously top heavy, whose body would excite any man. I thought a moment about trying to look bad, but I finally decided to do it right, turning to the side, emphasizing the size of my breasts and flat tummy, and showing my face fully. He had me, so I didn't want to aggravate him.

A quick snap in the mirror and it was done. I sent it back to whoever this was who had me in a bind, hoping against hope that this would satisfy him. There was nothing but silence for a day. Maybe it was over.

No such luck. Midmorning the next day, I heard my email ping as I blew out my hair after showering when I came home from the gym. In my robe, I picked up the phone, only to see these words: "I like what you have done to yourself. How big are they, really? I know they are bigger than before. Send me a pic in the smallest bikini you have."

I collapsed on the floor. This was getting harder each time. But I didn't have a choice. Saying no would just make things worse. The problem is that I have some very small bikinis. I got them for some trips we made to the Caribbean, and they looked awesome on me. Again, I decided to do this right.

It took me a few minutes to dig through my swimwear drawer (it was late summer), but there was my metallic blue bikini. The cups were barely big enough to hold me, and the bottom was hardly bigger, but I was committed. At the last second, I decided to go the whole hog. I slipped on my 8 inch clear platform heels to stack me up right, then snapped the pic in the mirror again.

This time, as I sent it back, along with the admission that I had 34G breasts, I included a question. "Please tell me what you want." I sat down to wait, hoping for a quick response. Of course, nothing came in that day.

By the time Charles got home, I was completely an emotional wreck. He could see something was wrong, but I told him a BS story about breaking a plate. I actually had broken a plate when I dropped it at the sound of my email (more spam), so he bought it and left me alone. I resolved to steel myself better and not let on what was happening inside of me.

It was not until about the same time Thursday that I received a response. I had come to start to dread this time of day. Sure enough, my email pinged, with this response: "To have you, of course. I understand from what you used to tell your boyfriend in your emails that you have a lot of very small, very tight, club dresses. Put one on and send me a pic. Don't forget the heels. I really liked them in the last pic."

I realized that doing this right had made it worse. I also realized I had no choice now. If I resisted at this point, I would pay for it. But I had to do something, no matter how small. I had an idea.

In my clubwear drawer I found my white, lycra, spaghetti strap, bodycon dress. Out of the closet came my brown suede over-the-knee boots with the 8 inch platform heels. Pulling them on, I stepped up to the mirror and took the latest pic. Deal with that, asshole.

I put the situation out of my mind for the rest of the day. One good part about having this happen at about the same time each morning was that I could try to get on with my life. Or at least I hoped. But there was always the nagging feeling that this couldn't go on forever.

The next morning came the email I had been dreading since this week began. "Great dress. Shows you off well. I know what you did with the boots, but I like them, so that's ok. But you convinced me to take this to the next level by your defiance. Nude. Now. With the clear heels."

Trapped by my own cleverness. I had no choice. I did as I was told. Expecting to have to change, I was already wearing just my robe, so it only took a few moments to put the heels on and position myself in front of the mirror. Wearing only my shoes and a smile, I took a picture of myself in all my glory, with my 34Gs front and center, along with my smoothly shaved pussy. A moment later it was away. Then I collapsed on the floor again, crying for over an hour.

That night, being Friday, Charles wanted to fuck. I really wasn't interested, as twisted up inside as I was. I just lay there and let him rut. Sometimes there isn't anything else to do. I slept poorly, hoping that maybe I would get a break from my tormentor on Saturday. No such luck.

Around midmorning my phone signaled an email. Looking down at it, I had to run to the bathroom because I became instantly nauseous. Controlling myself, I looked in horror at what was I was to do next.

You see, Charles had discovered something a couple years ago. There is an open field behind our house that goes on for over a mile. There are a few trees, a lot of grass, and not much else. Hardly anyone ever goes back there. We have a sliding glass door that opens on to the deck and patio, with the room inside it being a plush carpeted formal living room. We don't use it often, so the carpet is very white and the furniture the best in the house. The glass had curtains, which we left open most days and evenings to see out the back into the field. We usually would turn the floodlights on at night, but they only lit our backyard.

What Charles discovered was two important things. First, that if you turned the lights on inside the room and turned off the floodlights, the glass acted as a mirror. From inside, it was impossible to see anything outside. But from the outside, anyone out there could see in perfectly clearly.

The second was when we discussed one evening having seen a couple engaged in sex through a window, many years before. We laughed about it then, but now, it got me very hot and bothered. Charles noticed that later in the evening when we had sex ourselves.

What happened was that he decided to put these two discoveries together. One Saturday night he pulled me into the living room and got me undressed. He proceeded to turn the lights in the room on and the outside lights off. Laying there on the floor, he fucked me while I tilted my head backwards to see the glass. I realized that, if anyone was in the field behind the house, they could see us fucking. There wasn't anyone there, but what if there had been? It had the effect Charles expected it would. I had a massive orgasm that night.

Somehow, my stalker had either found out about this or had figured it out on his own. The email, the longest one from him yet, said, "Tonight after 11, take your husband into the room with the sliding glass door, leave the curtains open, and turn the lights on. Get down on your hands and knees facing the glass and have him fuck you from behind. Make sure you keep your body and face up off the floor, so I can see your tits bounce and the look on your face, and you had better be enthusiastic about being fucked. As you are being fucked, think about this: I'm out there in the dark watching, and soon I will be doing exactly the same thing to you."

I sat there, terrified once more. What could I do? I was about to expose myself, live and in full color, to this person - I assumed it was a man - that knew me, but I did not know him. He had gotten me further and further into his web, and it was only worse now after a week. Not wanting to have to come up with another lie, I controlled myself, came out of the bathroom, and started thinking about tonight.

First, we were going out to dinner anyway, so I decided to wear something a bit more sexy than normal. I put on my black lycra halter jumpsuit, that has a completely open back. The sides of the halter come all the way down to my waist on the outside, with the V in the middle dropping to below my nipples. It shows quite a lot of the sides of my boobs, especially if I move around. A chain belt adds just the right touch. Add a silver necklace that hung down between my tits, 5 inch hoop earrings, and my silver sequin 8 inch platform heel boots, and I was ready to go.

I don't remember much about dinner. I decided to get a little tight, as I figured the booze would loosen me up. I was terrified that I would lose my nerve, or be so scared I couldn't perform. I barely remember the ride home, being in a bit of an alcohol fog.

As it turned out, I didn't need to worry. When we got inside, it was after 11. I took Charles by the hand and practically dragged him into the living room. It didn't take much to get him warmed up, but I think I really surprised him when I asked him to switch the lights from outside to inside. But he did it.

He had that look on his face, the one that says he likes this. He pulled the halter of my jumpsuit over my head, letting it fall and exposing my breasts. I pushed it down over my hips, then moved quickly to get down on my hands and knees, facing the glass door. That was unusual for us, and necessary, as I couldn't have Charles to push me on my back again.

I could tell Charles was a little shocked by my behavior. He looked at me for a moment, down on all fours, with my hair laying on my straight back. If he gets behind me, I usually put my face on the floor or mattress, so this was new. I rarely initiate anything with him, so he was a little behind this time.

I heard Charles starting to get undressed. As he did, I looked at the window. It was a complete mirror to me. I could see nothing other than our reflections. I could see myself, down on all fours, completely nude except for my silver boots and jewelry. My 34G breasts were hanging below my body, making them look even bigger than normal. My arms were fully extended, so my breasts hung free, fully visible from the front. My long blonde hair was laying on my back and on both sides of my face, and I was looking straight ahead. Somewhere out there, where I couldn't see him in the dark, was my unnamed tormentor, watching me.

Charles got down behind me, put his hands on my back, and slid himself inside me. Only a woman can really understand what it feels like to have someone else inside you, especially someone you really don't care for. I closed my eyes for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of being fucked. I couldn't believe how hot and wet I was. I hadn't been this way in months, at least. I guess I really do get off some on being exposed for someone else to see.

As Charles started stroking into me, I began fucking back against his cock, gently at first, but within a few moments as hard as I could handle. I hoped to get this over with as quickly as possible.

All that force also made my breasts swing hard beneath me. In moments they were slapping into each other, being forced forward and backward as I moved against Charles. The force of the impact pressed the air out of my lungs each time his cock stroked into me, making a deep moaning noise. Within a minute or two, the impacts were snapping my clit into life, making this feeling so good, even as I knew what was really happening. I could feel the intensity rising as I quickly closed in on an orgasm. I could tell Charles was almost ready to come too.

As luck would have it, when someone was quietly watching us in the dark was also the first time in months I screamed as I came. Worse yet, Charles orgasmed at the same moment also, making for quite a show. I'm sure it showed on my face how hard I came.

Charles collapsed on my back, giving me an excuse finally to let myself down off my arms. They really hurt from the pressure they had held for the last few minutes. I wasn't sure how long I could have stayed up there. Also fortunately, Charles got up after just a moment and turned off the lights, ending my tormentor's show. A few seconds later, with the curtains closed, I got up off the floor and headed to bed to sleep this off.

I didn't make it there before my phone pinged with an email. "Great show. Looked like you enjoyed it." I hoped that would be the end of this. Not that I thought it would, but I hoped.

The next morning, about the same time as always, my phone pinged again. I looked at the email and was appalled, but not really surprised. There was a series of photos of me there. One was of me just after I got down on the floor. You could see that I was nude, and that Charles, whose face was not visible, was still completely dressed. I looked for all the world as if I was completely submitting myself to an unknown man to be impersonally fucked, which I guess I was, in a sense.

The next one was taken just as Charles entered me. Again, his face was not visible, but mine showed the look of pain and shock every woman's face does at that moment. Then there was one showing intense pleasure on my face, with my breasts obviously swinging in time with our movements. The last displayed me screaming as I came. In all, it was both an incredibly hot, and very humiliating, set of photos.

I couldn't take it. I just put the phone down and tried to ignore it. These photos did prove one thing - this wasn't some sick joke of Charles'. I just had to figure out what to do to make this hurt as little as possible.

Monday morning when I returned from the gym, I noticed something odd. There was a package sitting on my front porch. Just a small, nondescript brown cardboard box. It had my name and address on it, with a stick on label that looked like it was professionally shipped, but I realized there were none of the usual markings of such a shipment, and UPS and such never arrive before early afternoon. Odd.

Taking the box inside and opening it, I was really confused. Inside was a small black plastic box, about three inches long, an inch wide, and an inch deep. It had a short USB cable with a power plug on the end with it. No note, invoice, or anything else. I had no idea what this was or what to do with it.

I should have known better. No sooner did I have the thought than my phone pinged. The email was a bit longer this time. My stalker, who still did not have a name and was obviously watching me, told me to take the box to the bedroom, put it up on the dresser, and plug it in. Not knowing what else to do, I complied.

When plugged in, the box had no lights, sound, or anything else to tell me it was doing something. Deciding I couldn't do anything about it, I walked away. For about an hour, I went back about my business, getting cleaned up from the gym and a bite to eat, until my phone pinged again.

This time, the email was short: "Go to the bedroom." I knew it had to do with the box, but still had no idea what it was. That would change in moments.

I walked into the room and over to the little box. I fell backwards onto the edge of the bed when I suddenly heard a strange man's voice from it. "Hello, Dawn. Good to see you." In a flash I realized what the box was - it was a nanny camera, or more accurately in this case, a spy camera. It also apparently had the ability to transmit sound back to me as well. My tormentor had gotten inside my house.

When I didn't say anything after a moment, the voice continued, "Say something to me." Terrified even more than I had been, I replied, "Who are you?" "I am your Master. You will do whatever I tell you, when I tell you, without question or resistance. No matter what I say, you will reply, 'Yes, Master' Do you understand?"

Not knowing what else to do, I replied meekly, "Yes, Master." What I now recognized as my Master's voice continued, "From this moment forward, whenever you are home alone, you will be nude, except for jewelry and heels. Strip. Now."

I did what I was told. There really wasn't any other choice. This man, whoever he was, had asserted complete control over me, all from a few pictures I let be taken years ago in a moment of weakness. Really only one of them, now that I thought about it. One picture. A week ago I was a free woman. Suddenly, I had a Master. A moment's thought made me realize that if he was my Master, that made me a slave.

A few moments later, I was standing nude before what I now understood as a camera. "Climb up on the bed and kneel, facing the camera." I complied, meekly. "Spread your knees, and put your hands on your thighs. Bend your neck forward and look at the bed." Again, I did as expected. "From now on, this is how you will present yourself to me when called. You understand?" Of course, there was only one reply. "Yes, Master." "Very well. Go about your day."

Exactly how was I supposed to do that? Nude? In my own house? Somehow I managed. Thank goodness no one usually is here in the day but me. Working from home has its advantages. That worked until I heard a knock at the door, this time from the real UPS man.

Waiting until I knew he was gone, I went to get whatever the package was. Opening the front door while nude is a new experience. Again, a regular, small cardboard box. But inside, another fright. Three more spy cameras. Being so small and inconspicuous, no one would likely notice them. Within a few minutes another ping for an email. "Put one in the living room, one in the family room, and the last one in the kitchen." In other words, there would be nowhere in the house I could go where he would not either be able to see me or know I had gone in a room. This kept getting worse by the minute.

A few minutes before Charles was due home, I heard the Master's voice: "You may dress. Do so at about this time each day." Again, my only reply: "Yes, Master." With the extra cameras, he could now speak to me wherever I was in the house as well.

Charles' arrival did not help. It was all I could do not to blubber out what had happened today. But I couldn't. I understood that he was now being watched too, and what was worse, I couldn't tell him. I knew my Master had to have made arrangements to destroy me, and probably Charles too, if I tried to escape. The noose had pulled tighter.

The next day, I got up and left for the gym the same time I always did, when Charles left for work. Coming home about two hours later, I almost could forget that my house was now my prison. Almost. As I was heading for the shower, the cameras spoke. "Shave yourself completely. You will do so every day from now on." I faced the bedroom camera and replied quietly, "Yes, Master." Fortunately I have a very close shaver for my intimate areas and use it frequently, so this wasn't too big a deal.

Coming out of the bathroom, nude except for my heels and jewelry, I heard the cameras speak again. "Present yourself." I quickly climbed onto the bed and knelt as I had been taught. After 15 minutes of silence, my Master's voice returned. I assume the delay was from him watching me to see if I would move.

"Get your vibrator." I knew better than to try to lie and say I didn't have one. Fortunately, it was only a few feet away in my bedside table. I retrieved it and returned to my kneeling position. "Lay down on the bed and masturbate yourself to orgasm with the toy." Humiliated again. I did as I was told.

When after a few minutes I had not made much sound, my Master's voice spoke once more. "Be vocal. Always." So I started allowing the moans of pleasure I had suppressed to come out. I was so aggravated that he knew every time I tried to resist, no matter how small.

After a few minutes, I came. Not as loudly as Saturday night, but enough. For about a minute, there was silence after my small scream of pleasure died off. Then the voice again. "Present yourself." Back up on my knees.

Again, there was about 15 minutes of silence before I heard him speak. "Go about your day." I dared to reply, "Yes, Master." This time, there was no command to dress, so I did so just before Charles arrived home.

Wednesday morning was much like the previous day. Again I was commanded to masturbate with my vibrator. This time I remembered to be loud enough to satisfy him. I had to admit, there was some fun here. But what happened afterward renewed my fears.

When the usual 15 or so minutes of silence had elapsed, my Master spoke. "I understand from your boyfriend that you hate BDSM, but your husband loves it. Is this true?" I realized my answer would be the first time I did not give the ritual response. "No, Master, not exactly. I do hate BDSM of any kind, but my husband agreed years ago to stop as a condition of our reconciliation. I don't know if he still likes it or not."

After a few moments of silence, my email pinged. "Look at your phone." I reached for it, fearing I knew what was there. I was right. My Master had the picture that Charles had taken of me years before in heavy bondage. I remembered I had showed it to my boyfriend in a moment of anger with Charles over this. It was, until recently, the most humiliating picture that existed of me.

"You remember this?" "Yes, Master," was my reply. The next question: "Do you still have these items?" I hated what I had to say again. "Yes, Master." The next command was just what I expected. "You will find all the BDSM equipment in the house and lay it out on the bed."

I got up and headed for the closet. I knew exactly where Charles had put the box. Everything we had was in there. Oddly enough, except for one gag that I had literally bitten through and thus destroyed, we had everything else, even though it had been years since we played with any of it.

Inside the box were two sets of steel handcuffs, a pair of stainless steel wrist cuffs with leather linings, a matching set of ankle cuffs and a matching collar, a full set of small brass padlocks for the cuffs and collar to lock shut, a 18 inch hobble chain, a belly chain sized to my waist, a chain sized to run from my ankle cuffs to the collar, and a chain leash for my collar. There was also a full set of padlocks to connect all the chains, a 36 inch spreader bar, and a set of suspension cuffs. We also had a leather padded blindfold, a lycra hood with a padded section over the eyes, and a full leather discipline hood. There were two ball gags, one of which had holes and the other being a red rubber ball that really was too big, a spider gag to hold my mouth open, and a really effective gag that was basically two athletic mouthguards on top of one another. There was a 2 foot long plastic cane, an electric cattle prod, and a super large dildo with all kinds of bumps and hard points on it. Finally, there were the parts I feared the most: a set of tweezer clamps, two sets of clover clamps, one with and one without chains, a small pair of regular "C" clamps like for woodworking, two pairs of magnetic balls about a half inch across which could be used on my nipples, and the worst of all, a pair of talon clamps.

I took it all out in the bedroom and laid it out on the bed so my Master could see it. I could practically hear him smiling at what he saw. This was the set of gear for a man who liked inflicting pain on a woman. That's why I didn't like this at all.

Once I had it all set out, not knowing what else to do, I got back up on the bed and knelt again, waiting. It took several minutes, then my Master spoke again. "Go about your day." I quickly got moving. I was already getting used to being nude most of the day.

About an hour before Charles was due home, my Master commanded me to put the contents of the box away. I did so, then heard nothing more. I was dressed by the time Charles came home, but I was dreading what the next day would bring.

We had a routine now, my Master and I. As had become almost a habit, I presented myself after my shower then brought myself to orgasm with my vibrator. After nearly a half hour of silence this time, while I knelt before the bedroom camera, my Master spoke to me: "Tonight you will convince your husband that you wish to try BDSM with him again. You will ask him to re-create the picture, with some changes I will give you. You understand?" I didn't want to say what I had to say next, but there was no way out that I could see. "Yes, Master," was my reply. He then told me what the changes would be, which made this disaster even worse. This was going to hurt, badly.

The day went quietly after that, but I knew it was going to be a difficult evening with Charles. Over dinner I decided to tell him. "Do you remember when you used to tie me up?" "Sure," was his reply. "Well, I was thinking about that night you have the picture of. Would you like to try that again?" He broke out into a huge grin. "I'd love to."

"Thing is, I dreamed about this last night, but there were some differences." I went on to tell him about them. Of course, these were actually the changes my Master had demanded, but he didn't know that. Charles' grin got wider. "I think I can accommodate you. Tomorrow night?" It was agreed.

The next day, when I knelt on the bed, nude, to present myself to my Master, the routine changed. After kneeling for almost an hour, my legs were tired. He finally commanded me to go about my day, this time without playing with my toy. Honestly, I didn't feel like it anyway. I was in too much fear of what was going to descend upon me that night.

We had dinner at home. I took my time getting the dishes cleaned up, until it was dark outside. I noticed Charles had gone back to the bedroom without a word. I assumed he was getting ready.

I finally assembled my courage and went to the back. There, laying on the bed, almost like I had done it yesterday, was all the BDSM equipment. I noticed immediately that the keyring, which had the keys to all the locks, was nowhere to be seen. Of course. He also had my clear heels, a necessary addition from the original version.

Charles stepped up behind me and snapped a set of the handcuffs on my wrists. He grabbed the blindfold and pulled it over my eyes quickly, then forced the bigger ball gag between my teeth to shut me up. Charles believes this is the best thing to do quickly when binding a woman, because it prevents her from effectively resisting. Her arms are pinned, she cannot see to fight, and she cannot cry out, or worse yet in his opinion, say "no". Also, notice there was no safe word. He wanted to take control of me, period.

With that, he reached down, grabbed my top and pulled it over my head. It slid down my arms until it hit the handcuffs. He unclipped my bra, letting my 34Gs fall free, then flipped it over my head also, letting the straps slide down my arms. He has a way to strip a woman while she remains bound, to prevent resistance. He pushed me face first onto the bed, bending me at the waist and keeping my feet on the floor. I knew my Master was watching through the camera directly across the bed from where I was standing. I put my face down on the bed to have a moment's peace.

With that accomplished, Charles collected the steel and leather wrist cuffs. He tightly wrapped one around each of my wrists, above where my top and bra straps were laying, locking them in place with the little brass padlocks. When he had both on me, he pulled the rings on them together, putting a medium padlock through them, locking my wrists together a second time. From there, it was simplicity in itself to remove the handcuffs and let my top and bra fell away. I always appreciated that part, because police handcuffs hurt. At the least the other ones have a leather lining.

I felt Charles' hands at my waist, unbuttoning then unzipping my pants. They and my thong were quickly pushed down to my ankles. A moment later, he pulled my shoes off, then the pants off my legs, leaving me nude at last.

I felt him slipping my clear heels on my feet, then buckling them in place. I also felt the addition of the two small padlocks to keep them on my feet. Having them on made it easier for me to stand laying across the bed, so I couldn't complain. The ankle cuffs, similar to the wrist cuffs, went into place next. Once they were locked on, two medium padlocks put the hobble chain between the cuffs, adding to my restraints.

My long blonde hair had fallen onto my back when I laid down. Charles swept it forward, over my head, so that he could put the steel collar around my neck. Another small padlock went into place, setting it firmly on me.

With that, Charles put his hands on my upper arms and hoisted me up off the bed to stand on my feet. I felt my breasts swinging under me as I stood. That probably was a bit of a show for my Master. Charles slid the waist chain around me, then locked it in place using the padlock between my wrist cuffs. He then set the chain in place that ran from the ring on the back of my collar down through the same padlock and on to lock to the center of the hobble chain. I was now fully restrained and could do nothing but whatever Charles demanded.

There was one last thing that needed taken care of - the gag. Charles pulled the ball gag out, for which I was very grateful. It was too big. But he replaced it with a new one, the double mouth guard. That one was super effective. I could hardly make a sound, which would be important in just a few minutes.

With that done, Charles turned me around, stumbling on my heels as always when I can't see. He then clipped the chain leash to the front of my collar, an act I always find more humiliating than being restrained. Now I was an animal. A quick tug and we started down the hall toward the family room.

I hate being led on a leash. Especially when I am blindfolded. Even more when I am shackled. My large breasts, which I resent at moments like these, were swinging freely as I walked, taking small steps. It occurred to me that this was the first time I had been bound like this since I had the implants put in. I suspected I looked both erotic and helpless at the same time.

Fortunately, Charles didn't pull too hard or fast. The hobble chain bangCharles along the hardwood floor of the hall as we made our way to the front of the house. I wondered if the curtains were still open in the living room. They had been when I came back. But I figured my Master was not in the field tonight. He would be watching his cameras.

In a minute or so we arrived in the living room. I could feel the lights on me. The blinds were open in this room too, facing the street, but they were a lot smaller windows and we were back some from the street, so I doubted anyone would see me. But I also knew this would be where the pain would begin.

When I knew I was somewhere in front of the couch, Charles said, "Down on your knees, bitch." He always used degrading language when I was bound. I knelt down, taking a version of the position I had grown accustomed to with my Master. I knew he could see me through the camera hidden under the television. Ed got down behind me and took up the slack in the back chain, connecting the middle of the hobble chain to my wrist cuffs. That meant that I was unable to stand now. I could only kneel on my knees on this hardwood floor.

Now came the part I dreaded. First Charles took the "C" clamps and put one on each of my outer pussy lips. He screwed each down tightly until they hurt, compressing a circle in the middle of each side. When he let them go, it made my lips pull down an inch or so, causing pain, especially when I moved.

Then Charles took one of the loose clover clamps. He put his finger into my pussy and flicked at my clit until she peeked out, then he snapped the clover clamp on her. I screamed into the gag for a moment. That really hurt. But the worst was yet to come.

Charles stood up and walked into the kitchen for a moment. I knew what he had gone to retrieve. I heard the freezer open and close, then the footsteps of his return. He got down in front of me, and there was a sudden cold as an ice cube was applied to both of my nipples. As expected, they immediately turned rock hard, sticking out a half inch or so from my tits. As soon as he knew they were ready, he took the cubes away, and I heard the tinkle of a small chain.

A moment later, it was like a flashbulb went off in my head. Charles had opened each of the talon clamps, which had also been in the freezer, and therefore had less give in their tines than normal, and released them to slam shut on my nipples. If you have never seen a talon clamp, it is the most devilish device created to cause pain to a woman's nipples. It is a two-inch long metal stick, which has a spring-loaded button on one end, which when pressed causes four tines, about the size and shape of the sharp hook a dentist uses to pull at teeth, to pop out. The end of the stick is put over the tip of a woman's nipple, so the tines are behind a quarter inch or so. When the button is released, the tines grab the nipple from all four sides and crush it, both inward as well as against the metal stick, and try to also push their sharp ends into the sensitive flesh. The pain is the most intense I have ever felt in my nipples. I fear the talon clamps more than anything else. I would rather be beaten than wear them, even for a moment.

I howled into my gag as the pain hit me. I swung my breasts back and forth, in a vain effort to dislodge the talon clamps. I knew it would do me no good. Even if I could get them to move, the sharp points would rip my nipples to shreds.

I started to cry into the blindfold. I couldn't believe I had reduced myself even further. At this very moment, two different men were enjoying pleasure from my pain. I knew that Charles was a sadist, but at least he controlled it. The only reason he was doing this tonight was because I asked him to. But my Master also was clearly a sadist, and I suspected he was not nearly as understanding as Charles was.

Charles backed off, and then there were several beeps as he took pictures of me, bound on my knees, nude, shacked, handcuffed, blindfolded, gagged, and clamped. I knew these pictures would also clearly identify me if anyone ever saw them. They now took the place of the most humiliating pictures there were of me, remembering that the previous record holder was only a week old.

A moment later I heard the TV come on. A moment later, Charles started watching a movie, with me bound still on the floor. I knew this was the plan, as it was what he had done years earlier the last time I was bound like this. To my horror I realized that he had selected one of his favorite films, the Deer Hunter. Unfortunately for me, it was over three hours long. I realized I would be on my knees, chained as his slave, for a quite a while.

Then I heard him open the stereo cabinet. The last part of my torture, at least for now, was about to start. He fitted the wireless headphones over my ears, then turned them on and set the volume to medium-high. The only problem was, he deliberately did not turn the stereo on. The result was that my ears were flooded with the hiss of white noise. I couldn't hear a thing. All I could do now was feel the pain in my nipples, knees, and pussy. The agony was incredible.

I don't know how long I knelt there before him. I quickly lost track of time in the darkness of my blindfold, without hearing anything but static. I could have been minutes or hours. All I felt was searing pain.

Suddenly, there was pressure for a moment on the outside of my left breast. Before I could react, I felt a sharp snap of pain as he triggered the cattle prod. I screamed into the gag again. For the love of the world, wasn't I in enough pain already? Did he need to add more? I know I told him to do all of this, but did he have to listen to me?

Every so often throughout the movie, he snapped me with the cattle prod. Most of the time it was on my breasts, but a couple times it was on my pussy. Each time I jumped, making my clamps swing wildly, increasing the pain until they stopped moving. I started to come apart mentally. The pain was like fire, especially my nipples. I was convinced they would be cut apart by the talons.

Suddenly, I felt him fiddling with my chains at my back. After a moment, the hobble chain fell free from my wrists. A moment later I felt a tug at my leash. Still wearing the headphones, I stood up and followed Charles as we walked toward the bedroom.

I almost couldn't stand. My knees screamed at me having been forced to kneel on a hardwood floor for so long. As I took each step, all three sets of clamps sent shocks through my body. I thought I was going to descend into an oblivion of pain.

Arriving at the bedroom, I felt his hands at the hobble chain, releasing it. Next I felt him unscrewing the "C" clamps, one at a time. That didn't really make a difference. The pain from them was of the stretching of my lips, and they went back in place quickly.

The next one was a different story. There really was no way to fuck me while I had a clamp on my clit. When Charles released it, I screamed into the gag. The pain was unbelievable. I knew it would hurt even more to stimulate her, but that was what was going to happen in a few minutes.

He climbed up on the bed, then pulled me up with him. Apparently somewhere along the line, unknown to me, Charles had disrobed. His hands were on me, positioning me to straddle him. Still in the dark of the blindfold and without hearing anything, he dropped me straight down to be impaled on his cock.

I knew what I was supposed to do. With my hands pinned behind me, I rode Charles using only my legs. As badly as my knees hurt already, it was really hard, but daily trips to the gym made a difference. I had only made it one or two strokes when the pain in my tits became even more intense.

I knew what Charles was doing. It was the same thing he used to do when he would put the clover clamps on me. As I came down, he simply put a finger on the chain that connected the clamps. When I came back up, fucking him, the chain pulled tight. That pulled the talon clamps even harder into the tender flesh of my nipples. I started wailing into my gag. All I wanted was for him to come inside me so I could end this agony.

Only a woman who has been sexually tortured knows what it is like. It is the worst pain there is in the world. It takes something that is supposed to be wonderful and turns it into a nightmare. I love to have sex with a man. But having pain inflicted on me in my most intimate and sensitive parts at the same time, especially now having such huge breasts, was overwhelming. What was worse, I knew from experience that my body would betray me. I would have a massive orgasm from the torture.

That was what Charles was doing - sexually torturing me. He liked it, getting off on my suffering. I hated that he thought now he could do this to me again. This was the one thing I got out of staying with him - not being tortured any more. Now that solace was gone.

It took me about five minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime. Finally I felt Charles come. I wanted to lay down on him, but I knew better. He kept pulling on the clamp chain, including lifting my breasts up by the clamps for a moment. All the while, I just sat there on him and cried into my blindfold and gag from the pain. There was nothing I could do to protect myself. I wanted so much to pull my breasts away from him, but it would do me no good and only increase the pain from Charles, and almost certainly from my Master too, watching as he was through the camera.

At last, Charles reached up and pulled off the headset. He asked me, "Did you like that?" I knew better than to make any negative response, so I just nodded my head up and down. I felt him grasping the talon clamps, and a moment later there was the searing pain as they released from my nipples at last. I screamed harder than before into my gag, wanting so much to hold my breasts in my hands, but I couldn't. The cuffs still locked my hands tightly behind my back.

I slid off Charles and laid down on the bed in my usual spot. I hoped he would release me at last, but no such luck. Instead, he pulled my leash up and connected it to the headboard, then put the hobble chain back between my ankles. I guess I was sleeping chained as a slave. He pulled the covers up over us and settled in for the night.

I hardly slept. All I could think of was what my Master would say. The fear of that was almost as hard to deal with as being chained up all night.





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