From Jasper@fjbw.demon.co.uk Sat Jul 12 00:10:38 1997
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From: Jasper@fjbw.demon.co.uk (JW)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: The Contract (Fm, Bondage, SM) New Story
Date: Sat, 12 Jul 1997 04:10:38 GMT
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Any comments or correspondence welcome.

JW

THIS STORY IS FICTIONAL, IT CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF SEX AND
BONDAGE. IF YOU ARE UNDER AGE OR OFFENDED BY SUCH STORIES PLEASE STOP
READING NOW. THIS STORY IS COPYRIGHT BUT MAY BE DISTRIBUTED FREELY FOR
PERSONAL AND NON-COMMERCIAL USE.


THE CONTRACT

It was a strange kind of contract, but a contract nevertheless. He had
agreed to give up control of his body to the woman who stood in front
of him so that she might sate her lust in its abuse. In return she
would absolve him of his worldly cares, allow his mind to visit a
place as far removed from his day to day existence as it is possible
to be. 

To the outside observer it might appear to be a very mismatched
agreement, the woman seeming to gain great advantage from the trade.
She would be able to take her pleasure from him in what ever way her
fancy took her. She would be free from the normal constraints which
restrict and control the interaction between two people, her sole aim
being the exploration of her own deepest and darkest desires. The
contract conferred this right upon her. She need only consider her
partner in so much as how his body and mind would ultimately serve her
own selfish desires.

The man, on the other hand, had no rights any more. In making the
contract he had given up the right of self determination, both
physical and mental, and placed them in trust to the woman before him.
He knew full well that she would abuse that trust, taking cruel
pleasure in inflicting pain and humiliation upon his bound and
helpless body. But then that was the essence of the contract, she
would gain the power that she craved and he would revel in its
absence. Both would be released from the inhibitions of society and
the myriad controls that it placed upon their shared lives. 

In order to re-enforce the terms of the contract both parties wore the
uniform appropriate to their role. She, the mistress, wore a boned
leather corset, stitched from the softest hide, thin leather straps
passing over her shoulders held the garment in place, suspender straps
attached to the underside stretched down her thighs until they grasped
the tops of the stockings which covered her legs. Below her waist she
wore black leather panties which preserved her modesty from the eyes
of her slave. On her feet she wore the obligatory black patent leather
stiletto shoes, and currently the focus of the man’s fetishistic
attention. With the exception of the short leather skirt, which now
lay discarded in another room, this was the outfit that the woman had
worn to the restaurant where they had eaten a mere hour earlier.

For the man, the slave, modesty was a luxury denied him. He was naked.
His only garment, apart from the heavy leather cuffs encircling his
wrists and ankles, was a black leather hood covering his head. The
hood, made of supple leather, was laced tightly at the back, large
holes were present in the mask for his eyes, nose and mouth. Despite
being his only piece of clothing, the mask had an important role to
play in the execution of the contract. For without the mask he was
still the man that she knew at the dinner table, the person she had
talked and laughed with as an equal. Wearing the mask he was now a
faceless slave, his humanity covered and denied to him by a thin layer
of black leather, someone she could abuse without mercy, a stranger.

As well was being naked he was also bound. His bondage, like his
apparel, was symbolic of that which he had given up as his part of the
contact. The thick straps around his wrists and ankles bound him
upright to a heavy wooden St Andrews cross, his legs and arms spread
wide. Heavy chains attached the cuffs to the extremities of the beams,
the shackles were far heavier than they needed to be, their purpose
being to impress on their guest the utter helplessness of his
situation and the impossibility of escape. Bound in this position the
man had never felt more exposed or vulnerable, but for the woman this
humiliation was not enough. Her desire to dominate him was strong, she
wanted him to realise in every fibre of his being that he now belonged
to her and that her control over him was absolute.

After binding him to the cross she had proceeded to force a red rubber
ball gag and bit between his teeth, strapping it tightly to his face.
She had now removed his ability to communicate, she could still hear
him moan and cry out, but he could now no longer talk or reason with
her to end his torment. The faceless slave was now without voice. She
then took chains and attached them to D-rings fixed to either side of
his hood. The other ends she locked onto fastenings attached to the
cross, taking time to adjust the tension until she was satisfied that
she  had denied him his one remaining freedom of movement, the ability
to bow his head in shame. A hot flush passed over him as he was forced
to gaze on the woman who was orchestrating his degradation and
humiliation. His arms had begun to ache, and with what little movement
he had left, he shifted position to try to ease the pain. But soon
even this would be denied him. 

The final indignity came from a movable pad fixed to the centre of the
cross and which was currently pressing into the man’s back. By its
adjustment the woman could force her captive’s torso out and away from
the cross. Each turn of the wheel would arch his body back a little
more and tighten ever so slightly the chains binding his hands and
feet to the cross. She began to operate the device, gradually what
little movement he had left was taken from him as his legs and arms
were stretched taught against the chains which bound him. 

Just as he thought his feet were about to be lifted from the ground
she stopped. He was now spread before her, his body arching back
towards the extremities of the cross, his sex thrust forward in mute
offing for her to take pleasure in his humiliation. In this position
both man and woman gazed at each other as the woman considered how she
would honour the terms of he contract, whilst in her had she fingered
a short many stranded whip. 

Outside of the room the hubbub of London life continued, but for the
man and woman this was now a very long way away. The meal that they
had eaten together was a distant memory to them both, indeed, their
world outside the confines of the room had almost ceased to exist. As
she looked at him, she could feel the desire take control of her, she
swung back her arm and brought the whip down hard across his naked
body.

Beneath the gag the man cried out, more in shock then in pain. He
suddenly felt more helpless than ever before in his life, he struggled
against the leather and steel which bound him to the wood of the
cross. For more than a minute he fought against his bonds, crying out
against the indignity into which he had placed himself. But the cross
was well made, there would be no escape. Indeed he was so tightly
bound to the cross that it was impossible to move his body more than a
few inches in either direction. He would remain there until the terms
of the contract had been completed and the woman returned his freedom
to him.

For her part, the woman brought the whip down on the man’s body almost
without thinking, but his reaction to the lash brought home to her, in
the most shocking of ways, the power she had over him and his utter
helplessness in her presence. It was true that the build up to this
point had left her moist with anticipation for what was to follow. The
action of first stripping him and then chaining him to the unyielding
cross had been for her a very erotic act. More than once she allowed
her hand to explore his most intimate places uninvited, enjoying the
man’s embarrassment at his own involuntary reaction. But despite this,
he had still been the same man that had entered the room with her and
she had  still been his companion. But now something had changed
fundamentally between them. The shock of seeing him cry out and
struggle helplessly against his bonds brought home to her more fully
than she could have thought possible the transformation that had just
occurred. His struggles and cries were not those of a modern man, but
something more primitive. He was no longer the strong intelligent
companion that she had dined with earlier that night, he was now
nothing more that a naked and faceless slave chained to a cross,
powerless to prevent whatever degradation her pleasure demanded.

She was not in a hurry, indeed, she had all night if she so desired,
it would be a pity to burn out her lust so early in the evening. She
wanted to savour the power that she had over him, to incite his own
lust, to arouse and torment him with her most delicate touch. She
looked at him. He looked so open and accessible, his body straining
towards her inviting to be touched. How could she refuse such an
offer.

She walked up to him. His body although stretched over the beams of
the cross was far from immobile, the muscles in  his legs and arms
flexed continuously as they tried to fight the shackles which held him
prisoner. His breath came from behind the gag in short gasps. She
reach out her hand , letting it gently brush the inside of his thigh,
she heard his breath quicken as slowly she moved it up his leg.
Finally a moan escape from behind his gag as she cradled his scrotum
and then let her hand caress the shaft of his erect penis. She could
feel the man trying to pump his pelvis against her, to increase the
sensation she was generating, but the bonds where too tight. He could
only move his body a fraction of an inch. She looked up at his face,
he had forced his head back and his eyes were tightly shut in a vain
attempt to deny the hash reality of his bondage. She laughed.

"Open your eyes slave and look at me"

He obeyed. It was now his turn to comprehend the transformation that
had taken place between them. Before him stood a scantily clad woman,
the very stereotype of a male fantasy. Her garb of leather corset,
stockings and stiletto shoes would arouse any man. She was the perfect
picture of a male plaything, dressed to please her man. But this was
the irony of the situation, she was not the plaything, he was. The
tightness of his bondage would not let him forget for an instant the
complete helplessness of his position. His legs and arms spread wide
apart and his pelvis thrust crudely forward made him feel more naked
and exposed than he had ever felt before in his life. And the
knowledge that she knew that he craved this abuse more than anything
else in the world sent a fresh wave of humiliation coursing through
his body.

He suddenly desperately wanted her to touch him again, to feel her
cool hand on the hot flesh of his penis. Beneath the gag he began to
beg, but only garbled grunts could escape past the plug of rubber
filling his mouth, he began to rock his pelvis desperate for her to
know his need. He looked at her. She knew only too well what his need
was and he feared that she would use it to torment and humiliate him
over the course of the night. The cruel smile forming on her face
reinforced this, but if she would only touch him now it would give him
some respite.

Not taking her eyes off him for a second, she reached down between his
legs. He could feel her wrist brushing against his penis as her
fingers gently caressed the sensitive skin between his legs. His body
felt strange, as if his body was no longer part of him. The severity
of his bondage and the unnatural position forced upon him were
beginning to play tricks with his senses. His inability to move or
stimulate by touch his skin in any way meant that he was now totally
dependent on his mistress to supply physical simulation to his body.
The absence of sensation was slowly causing his skin to become hyper
sensitive, and when she did touch him, his body magnified the
sensation a thousand fold. And now, as she stroked him, every nerve in
his body seamed to connect with that small patch of skin, the target
of her delicate caress. It was maddening in its intensity. Slowly her
middle finger began to explore down into the crack between his legs,
he could feel nothing else, it was as if his whole body was numb with
the exception of the few square centimetres of skin at the centre of
her exploration. He strained his head down, fighting against the
chains which anchored his mask to the cross, trying to maintain the
eye contact with his mistress, desperate to impart to her the
sensations that he was feeling. He moaned as her finger brushed
against his anus, he could feel her nail probing it, sending waves of
pleasure flowing through his body. Slowly she pulled her hand back
from between his legs, gently cupping and caressing his scrotum, and
then drawing slowly back along the shaft of his penis.

He was in heaven, his whole being focused on the sensation emanating
from her hand as it stroked and caressed him. But the time it lasted
was all to short, and after what seemed like only a few seconds she
removed her hand leaving him desperate for its return. He tried to
plead with her to continue her caress but the garbled sounds which
emitted from behind the gag shamed him into silence.

She was not in a hurry, after all he was not going anywhere, and she
had all night if she wished to take her pleasure from his bound and
naked body. But first she wanted to savour a little more the sense of
power and dominance that she had over him before she gave in to her
more base desires. 

Champaign and caviar. They had bought them both at great expense from
Fortnum and Masons in Piccadilly that afternoon. He had paid of
course. She remembered him standing there in his expensive Nicol Fari
suit looking nonchalant as he signed the credit card slip, at the time
she thought this was an excessive extravagance, now she accepted it as
no more than her due. As she began to open the Champaign she looked
back at him, he looked very different now, no longer the urbane young
gentleman. The confident look in his eyes had gone, he was no longer
the master of the situation. The whiteness of his skin contrasted with
the dark colours of the room, his penis which was much darker than the
surrounding skin and almost painfully erect told her that despite his
obvious fear he was also very aroused. She poured the Champaign into
the glass and brought it to her lips, the Champaign was good, very
good. It was chilled but not so cold as to mask the taste, this was
without doubt the finest Champaign she had ever drunk, and if it were
possible, the glass she drank from enhanced the flavour still more. It
was Venetian crystal, the antique dealer had said it was made in about
1850, and the beauty of the design was quite stunning. For a few
seconds she admired the deep colour of the crystal and the delicate
workmanship that went into the its construction. The gold leaf that
once defined the patterns etched into the glass was now faded and
almost gone, but that did not matter, if anything it added history and
character to the timeless elegance of the piece.

She looked back at the man, now still on the cross. "A good choice, if
I might say. It is a pity that you can’t share my appreciation of it."
She laughed.

"I am afraid my bound and naked slave, it looks like you have a long
night ahead of you"

She walk slowly back towards him, holding the glass in one hand and
letting the other caress her own thigh,  tracing the line dividing the
black leather of her underwear with the white flesh of her leg. She
smiled inwardly as she watched his erect member bob up and down, she
knew the effect she was having on him and wondered for how long she
could sustain his arousal. It would be fun to find out. 

Standing close to him she sipped from the glass letting her fingers
trace invisible lines across his torso. Beneath the gag his breathing
became more rapid, every few seconds he would let out a gasp or a moan
as his body reacted to her touch in ways that he could not control.

"Do you like it when I humiliate you?" She whispered, her hand
reaching down to lightly stroke his penis.

"Do you like it when I make you moan, when I make you admit to me you
most secret desires?"

Beneath the mask the man felt the humiliation wash over him, he had
not only given her his body but his soul as well, she had not merely
stripped him of his clothes but of  every social barrier and defence
that society had given him. He had no choice but to answer truthfully
, to try to lie would be an even greater humiliation. He nodded his
head. A moan escaped his gag as she pulled back the foreskin of his
penis.

"I have bought you a present my hot little slave, another little token
to remind you that you belong to me. So you don’t forget that you are
my property, to use and abuse in what ever way my perverted little
mind desires"

She took another sip from the glass.

"I had it made especially for you, it was very expensive, I even paid
for it with your credit card. Would you like to know what it is?"

She placed the glass carefully onto the rug and went over to the
cabinet at the side of the room. The man tried to follow her movement
with his eyes, but the chains locking his hood to the beams of the
cross halted his progress before she had reached her destination. He
could hear her opening the door to the cabinet and retrieving
something from its confines. When she came back into view she was
carrying an oblong box some eighteen inches long. The box itself was
black but around it, and tied on top with a bow, was a wide yellow
ribbon. 

He had no idea what it could be. He had seen an unexpected bill on his
last credit card statement for well over five hundred pounds, but when
he had asked her about it she had merely smiled and said "Wait and
see." The company, R&G Designs Ltd., gave no further clue as to what
it could be. He had considered finding out their telephone number and
calling them, but thought better of it. He had given her the credit
card as part of the contract. He trusted her that she would honour the
terms of it.

She placed the box on the floor and began to untie the ribbon.

"Do you remember my gay friend Frank?" She asked.

It was an unexpected question. He did indeed remember him, they had
met him a few months ago when they had gone as interlopers to the Gay
Pride festival. He was the classic gay leather man, and obviously
heavily into sado-masochistic sex himself. What possible connection
could he have with the contents of the box.

Surrounded by tissue paper lay his present, it appeared to be some
kind of dildo. Carefully she removed it from the box and brought it up
for his inspection. It was indeed a dildo, black, and fashioned as a
large male phallus and very realistic. But that was only the start.
Attached to the base of the dildo was a thick stainless steel rod
which itself disappeared into a large metal box, on top of the box
were a number of switches.

The man looked blankly back at the woman, trying to gain some insight
into what was about to happen to him.

"It’s a fucking machine, my poor helpless slave, and you are going to
be fucked by it." She flipped a switch and the man watched as the
dildo began to slide in and out.

"I told Frank about you penchant for humiliation and he was more than
happy to make a latex mould of his penis, in fact I think he rather
got off on the whole idea. Do you like the result, she let her hand
stroke the end of the dildo as it continued to pump slowly back and
forth. "He is quite a big boy isn’t he."

The very thought of the mechanical rapist invading his body horrified
the man, it broke though his most basic and primitive taboos
concerning his sexuality. He had, he thought, no homosexual leanings
and the idea of a mans prick, even a latex cast of one being forced
into his anus, repulsed him. In futile desperation he struggled
against his chains, ignoring the impossibility of escape, pleading
with her from behind the gag not to do this to him.

"So you see my poor little slave you are not only going to be fucked
by me but by Frank also"

As his struggles subsided amid the crushing weight of knowledge that
he was utterly powerless to prevent his further degradation a fresh
humiliation swept over him. He wanted this to happen to him. For an
instant he had a vision of Frank being in the room with his mistress,
and the two of them together taking it in turns to abuse and rape his
bound and spread body whilst the other looked on and laughed.

Much later, when thinking back at what happened, he did not believe
that his sexuality had been fundamentally changed by these events.
Rather that the cocktail of fears, desires and emotions that she had
set off had allowed his mind to contemplate ideas that would have
never made it past his emotional conditioning present in his normal
existence.

But those thoughts were still in the future, the present allowed no
time for such elegant post rationalisation. In the present he was
naked, bound and spread wide on a heavy wooden cross, the helpless
plaything of a woman whose desire to dominate and humiliate him was
all consuming. 

"I can see that my idea is turning you on" She said, looking at his
still erect penis. His total inability to hide any desire, however
perverted, from his mistress’s gaze shamed him still further.

"Maybe next time I should invite Frank along, he said he would like to
rape you. He told me he would like to have you bound on the floor with
you mouth forced open by a ring gag so he can alternate between
fucking you in the arse and ramming his prick down your throat and
making you suck him off."

The vision at once sickened and thrilled him, he could not comprehend
how such a depraved act could arouse him so much, but it did. He was
her slave, and as such would respond to her in anyway that she wished,
he had no choice, she had stripped him of every defence that he
possess. He had submitted to her more fully than he could have thought
possible and in return she had filed his soul with emotions more
powerful and intense than he had ever experience before. He started to
cry, not out of fear or sorrow, but because it was the only way he
could release what was inside of him. For a brief instance his mind
left his body as it was carried away on the swirl of emotions. But the
escape was all too short, he caught sight of his mistress staring at
him, and was brought back to earth with a jolt. A fresh wave of
humiliation mixed with desire washed over him. In her hand she held
the device, the dildo now shiny and slick with lubricant. 

"Lets see how you enjoy your present shall we"

She walked behind him, letting her oily hand catch hold of his penis
as she passed, causing him to moan in response. For what seemed like
an eternity nothing happened. He could hear the sound of nuts being
placed onto bolts and tightened, he guessed that she must be fixing it
to some kind of base, but he could feel nothing. Then, just as he was
thinking that something must have gone wrong, he felt the end of the
dildo push ever so gently between his buttocks. Within a few seconds
he saw his mistress return to her station in front of him. 

But what of his humiliation, he did not understand why she had not
forced the device deep inside of him so that it might fuck his prone
and helpless body as she watched the spectacle of his degradation. She
stood close to him, letting her body press against his, in her hand
was the crystal goblet. She took a sip of the Champagne, her face
inches from his own.

"You look puzzled." She let her hand stroke the leather of his mask.

"You are wandering why, at this very instant you are not being raped
by Franks prick. You will be, don’t worry, but we don’t want the
evening to end too early do we."

With that she turned and walked back to the table, refilling her glass
with more of the decadent liquid. For several minutes she stood at the
table, her back to him, as she lavished herself with Champagne and
caviar. The man could do nothing but wait. Once, as she was eating, he
let out a moan from behind the gag, a desperate attempt to draw her
attention back to him. Without even bothering to look at her bound
captive she snapped back.

"You will be whipped for this interruption, do not dare disturb me
again."

Without making any further sound he tried to shift his body to easy
the dull pain that was in his shoulders and arms. As he moved he
realised that the dildo was now closer, brushing against his anus. The
realisation dawned on him that it was not fixed, but moving very
slowly and in a few minutes it would begin it slow inexorable invasion
of his body. His whole conciseness was now focused on the dildo as the
gentle brushing sensation slowly became a continuous pressure which
gradually built in intensity. His mistress seemed unaware of what was
happening as she continued to indulge herself with the Champagne and
caviar.

The progression of the dildo was unstoppable and maddening in the
slowness of its passage. The man was powerless to alter its course,
the chains and leather with bound his naked form to the cross allowed
him almost no movement, at best he could raise or lower his pelvis an
inch or so. The little movement that he possessed was if anything
worse than total immobility, for each movement that he made, however
small caused his sphincter to expand and contract as it moved against
the advancing invader. The sensations that flowed through his body
were as powerful as anything he had experience up to now. He could not
help himself, his body jerked and spasmed as the maddening device
slowly entered him. He shut his eyes tight, trying to find some
defence against the torment he was being subjected to. But it was
futile, his mistress knew him too well,  there would be no escape from
the uncontrollable emotions coursing though his body.

He opened his eyes, before him stood the woman, she was staring at
him, her legs placed wide apart, and in her hand once again was the
short many stranded whip. Another wave of humiliation washed over him
as thought of the spectacle he must have presented to her; A naked and
bound slave, spread wide and utterly helpless, writhing uncontrollably
as he was raped by a machine. At this moment he would submit to
anything if only she would stop what was happening to him, he would
gladly humiliate himself for her, crawl naked in public behind her,
anything, providing in return she would release him from this erotic,
maddening  torment.

"You see, some things in life are worth waiting for." She let the
strands of the whip drag though her hands.

"And that’s just for starters, I haven’t finished with you by a long
way let. But first there is the little matter of your punishment, but
don’t worry baby, you didn’t really spoil my enjoyment of the caviar.
I enjoy inflicting pain on you, if you hadn’t had interrupted me I
would have found some other excuse to whip you"

She let loose the whip on his body and the man cried out as the
leather strands struck his flesh. He could not help but pull again the
chains which tethered him, he felt the dildo move and slide within
him. But something had changed. Instead of the dildo being almost
stationary, relying on the movement of the man for its effect, it had
now begun slowly pumping inside of him with a life of its own. The
whip struck again, and again, the initial sting was now being replaced
by a burning sensation as the blood rushed to the surface of his skin.
Through his own haze of pain and desire he could see that mistress had
now lost her earlier composure as her own sexual desires were fired by
his torment. With one hand she continued to flail the whip back and
forth across his body while with the other she had pushed back the
leather covering her own sex and was using her finger to arouse
herself still further. Beneath the gag he cried and moaned, free of
all inhibitions, letting his body jolt and spasm in response to the
sting of her whip.

His own body was now on fire, his mind burning with lust and desire. A
strange euphoria took hold of him, heightened still further by the
endophens pumped into his system in response to the pain she inflicted
on him. Both mistress and slave were now lost in their own private
worlds of dominance and submission feeding off each other to fuel the
burning desire that consumed the pair of them. If she wanted to she
could end the contract here, fling herself on his bound and helpless
body, rape him, bring them both to the climax that they craved.

But that would be too soon, the symphony that she was orchestrating
around him had one more movement left to perform. She would resist her
desire and let him suffer a little longer, but when the time came she
would strip him of his last ounce of pride, make him beg and plead for
the release that she knew he craved more than anything. Before that
she would sate her own lust, revelling in the absolute power she had
over him. Only then, her own need satisfied she would watch calm and
collected as she brought her slave slowly to the climax she knew he
wanted more than life itself. As she did so she would mock and laugh
at him as she forced him to lay bare his deepest needs and most
humiliating desires to her. Finally she would take pity on him and
grant her slave’s greatest desire, to be allowed to cum in the
presence of his mistress, and so the contract would be honoured.

She stopped. The man hung limp from the cross, his chest, stomach, and
sides glowed red where the whip had struck him. She flung the whip to
the ground and strode forward, grasping his balls in a vice like grip
which sent a jolt of pain searing though his body.

"If you do that again I will hang weights from your balls so heavy you
will beg me to cut them off to end the pain, how dare you not stand
erect in my presence."

His whole body ached, his shoulders and arms in particular as they had
supported much of the weight of his body. His hands now were almost
completely numb, the cuffs having restricted the blood into them. But
with an effort he pulled himself up with his arms letting his feet
once again take their share of the work in supporting the weight of
his body. He had no doubt that if he did not do so she would carry out
her threat.

By the time he had recovered himself, she had returned to his side,
once again sipping Champagne from the crystal goblet. She let her hand
run down his back allowing it to make a detour as it reached the pad
pressing into him. Its final destination was his right buttock where
she allowed her hand to cup and fondle it. All the time he could feel
the continuous and incessant motion of the dildo as it moved inside of
him. They stood there in silence, mistress and slave, her body pressed
gently against his. He could feel his erect member rubbing gently
between soft flesh of her thigh, whilst her hand absently stroked and
caressed him between his cheeks. After several minutes of silence
broken only occasionally by the gentle sound of his mistress sipping
her Champagne she spoke.

"I think that you have had enough of Frank for the moment"

With that she lent down, her face pressing against his chest, as she
reached further behind him, there was the faintest sound of a switch
being thrown and the dildo stopped its motion inside of him. It did
not leave his body however, and its presence still remained a constant
reminder of his humiliating role in the contract.

Her Champagne finished, she returned the glass to the table. They
stood once again facing each other. He could consider no other state
now that to be her slave. While he was bound to the cross his cares
outside of the room had ceased to exist, his job, the mortgage, were
as nothing to him. The only thing that was important in his life stood
now before him. She had stripped him of every ounce of his social
conditioning, pride, and inhibitions, leaving only a raw primitive
sexual need which only she could satisfy. Without her he was nothing,
the only emotions he had were those she permitted him, the only
sensations he experienced were those she fed to him by the touch of
her hand or the lash of her whip. His naked body, stretched and spread
wide could do nothing, not even rub itself against the wooden beams of
the cross. The pad forced into his back, arching his body away from
the heavy beams, forbid him any stimulation not sanctioned by the
leather clad domatrix standing scant feet away.

For an eternity they faced each other he could feel the tension
building inside of her. Then with a brief flick of the hand she let
one strap and then the other fall from her shoulder. It was a simple
movement, but with a significance that caused the man, her slave, to
moan and struggle against the chains which bound him in fearful
anticipation of what was to come.

She would wait no longer, she had humiliated and abused him fanning
her own flames of desire in the process, now she would quench them by
impaling herself upon him. She would take what she wanted by force,
revelling in her domination over him, and when she had spent her lust
on him she would orchestrate his final humiliation. She wanted to be
naked, to feel with every nerve in her body his uncontrolled desire as
she raped him. She would fuck him as he stood, clinging to him like a
limpet, forcing herself against him so that she might feel his body
strain and twist against hers in desperate passion. Then with her own
desire spent she would dismount him, remove his gag, and then listen
to his desperate pleadings as she brought him slowly to climax.

Without apparent haste, she began to strip in front of him. She knew
how to arouse him, and she used her knowledge to tease and torment him
as he stared helplessly on. First the shoes. Then, letting her hand
stoke and caress the white skin of her inner thigh, she unclipped and
then removed first one stocking and then the other. A gentle pull on
the knot that tied her panties around her waist was all that needed to
send them sliding to the floor. Beneath the corset he could see the
mound of dark hair covering her womanhood, she let her hand run though
it, knowing full well the effect that it would have on him. 

Finally the corset. Standing close to him so that he could see her
every move, she began to undo one by one the fasteners running down
the front of the garment. Gradually it parted to reveal more and more
of the milky flesh beneath it, until she released the final fastening
and the corset fell lifeless behind her. She stood before him, as
naked as he. But her nakedness was not that of a slave, it was brash,
proud, and confident, and the hunger in her eyes terrified him. She
moved yet closer, he could feel her nipples brush against his chest.
Suddenly she forced herself against him, he could feel his prick
rubbing against her cunt, driving him wild with desire. But she was
not interested in sex just yet, she wanted to taste the sweat on his
body, to feel something of the passion she had instilled in him, to
mark him with her teeth as her own. For minutes she gave in to these
desires, licking and biting him with wild abandon, rubbing her body
against him, his cries of pain and arousal merely spurred her on.

This though, was merely a prelude to the final movement, she rose from
her knees from where she had been exploring between his legs with her
tongue. She was calm once more, although the same hunger still burnt
in her eyes. She took oil from the table, and standing so that her
slave might gaze fully at her nakedness, she began to rub the oil over
her body. Slowly she began to glisten and shine as her hands roamed
ever wider across her smooth skin. She allowed herself to become
aroused by the touch of her own hand letting it slide in and out
between her legs, bending her knees and letting her body gyrate in
response to her own caress. The voyeuristic gaze of her mute slave, as
he stared at his now fully aroused mistress, inflamed her passions
still further as she continued to work her fingers deep inside her.
She wanted to tease him for a while with her own obscene display, to
inflame his own desires but leave him helpless satisfy them. She
squatted down, spreading her legs wide apart, with one hand she
continued to finger herself whilst with the other she pulled and
kneaded her breasts, all the time fixing him with a gaze of pure
unadulterated lust.

 She allowed the erotic exploration of her own body to continue. She
let herself imagine that she was now the slave, being forced to
perform in front of her master. She closed her eyes and sank to her
knees spreading them wide as if offering herself to any man that would
take her. She allowed her mind to conjure a slave collar locked about
her neck and chains on her legs and arms, a symbolic enslavement, but
nothing that would interfere with her erotic dance. For minutes she
let her own hand tease her, moaning freely at each new sensation she
generated within her, but eventually she opened her eyes and the spell
was broken. She stared at her slave who was now straining on the cross
in helpless arousal, this was better she thought, the absolute power
that she had over his mind and body was the strongest aphrodisiac of
all.  

She was ready for her slave now. Slowly she advanced towards him, her
body language leaving him in no doubt as to what his mistress desired.
She began to rub the oil into his chest, quickly widening her
attentions so that soon, like her, his whole body glistened with the
oily liquid. Her touch was more than he could bare, the sensation of
her hand gliding without friction across his now super sensitive body
was driving him insane. 

He heard her laugh, as if at some private joke that he was excluded
from, and then her mocking whisper "I think we need Frank again.". She
squatted down in front of him, letting her mouth tease and tempt his
cock, as she reached behind him to activate the switch. As she rose
again to her feet he could feel the phallus inside of him start
pumping again, fucking him, adding to his ever more desperate state of
arousal. The time had come, her slave was now prepared and ready for
her. She climbed onto him. 

To allow her to mount him, she had stirrups fixed to the wooden beams
of the cross and some twelve inches above the ground into which she
could place her feet and which were strong enough to support the full
weight of her body. Other handholds and rings bolted higher up on the
cross allowed her to hold herself against her slave and control her
movement. She stood in the stirrups her body towering over him, her
legs enveloping his hips. He could not resist her, even if he wanted
to, she forced herself on to him and burying his face between her
breasts. Grabbed the rear of his hood, she jerked his head back
against the chains that bound it to the cross, forcing him to look
into her eyes 

"Don’t disappoint me" she hissed.

Holding onto the cross with one hand, she allowed her knees to bend,
letting their bodies slide against each other as she lowered herself
onto him. With her free hand she grasped his penis, guiding it into
her. There was a moments resistance and then it sunk inside of her.
For a brief moment he saw her dominance over him slip as she let out
an involuntary gasp as he entered her, but it lasted only an instant,
and once again she was his mistress. Slowly and with great skill she
began to work her body against his, sometimes pressing her whole body
hard against him, letting her nipples rub against the hairs of his
chest. At other times holding herself away, the only contact being
where his sex entered her body. But always with her eyes locked on to
his face watching every detail of his enslaved passion. They were now
bound together on the cross, he by the leather and steel  which held
him its prisoner, she by her own force of will as she thrust herself
against him

Beneath the mask the man continued to be tormented by his own arousal
and his utter helplessness in directing its course, behind his gag he
let forth a stream of sounds, in a desperate attempt to tell his
mistress of his need. Time and again she brought him close to his own
orgasm but whether by design or her own selfish need she would never
let him reach that point of no return. Deep down he knew that his time
would come later, but in such a way as to allow his mistress to take
yet more pleasure from his humiliation. His role in this was clear, he
was her slave and had no choice but to squirm and beg for her touch,
to debase himself before her so that she might take pleasure from his
chained and tormented body.

And what pleasure she took from him, her face was a masked of wanton
lust as she let their bodies slide together, her every motion designed
to sustain and increase the waves of pleasure flowing through her.
Gradually, though, the rhythm of her movements changed as she felt her
body came closer to its climax. Her movements became more erratic and
violent. Then without warning she flung her head back and let out a
succession of cries as the orgasm hit her, she continued to thrust
hard against him for another thirty seconds as wave after wave of
sensation hit her. But finally even she could take no more, she lifted
herself off him and stood down from the cross. Her hair, wet from the
oil and the exertion of her love making, was plastered to her head.
For several minutes she just stood there as she recovered her
composure, more than once her body spasmed uncontrollably as the
after-shocks of her orgasm rushed through her. At last she spoke to
him.

"Now my little slut it’s your turn, I want to see you perform for your
mistress. I want to hear you beg for me to let you cum"

She reach forward and removed the gag from the man’s mouth.

For the first time since his ordeal began he had the power to speak
and communicate his burning desires to his mistress, but he could not
bring himself to do so. With the gag forced into his mouth he could
moan and beg freely, knowing that whatever sounds came out would be
garbled and unintelligible, the uncontrolled reaction of a slave to
his mistress’s touch. But now she had given him back his voice, he
could no longer pretend that he was the helpless victim of his
mistress’s depraved desires. He knew that she would not release him,
either sexually or physically, until he had used his full powers of
communication to beg her to humiliate him and to plead for the touch
of her hand on his body. That would be the greatest humiliation, to be
forced to admit in the most unambiguous of terms that his greatest
desire in the world was to be her slave.

In a voice, no louder than a whisper, he said "Touch me. Please touch
me Mistress."

This was power, she thought, to bind a person naked to a cross, then
turn him from a cultured, intelligent man to a naked slave in heat who
would humiliate himself totally in front of you just so that you might
deem to touch him. She let her hand run up the out side of his leg,
then moving across his torso. She could feel his muscles twitch and
jerk as if shocked by an electric current. 

"Tell me where you want me to touch you" She wanted to force from him
his deepest and darkest desires, to watch his shame as he was forced
to beg for his own humiliation. 

"Please mistress, touch my prick, let me cum."

She let her hand slip down, moving effortlessly against his oiled and
slippery skin, until it came to rest between his legs, lightly
brushing his scrotum. With her other hand she reach forward holding
onto the shaft of his erect penis, letting it run slowly up and down
its length. She watched as her slave closed his eyes in response to
her caress.

"Open your eyes slave, look at your mistress. Tell me who you are and
what you want from me."

He forced himself to open his eyes, his whole being was focused on the
pressure building up between his legs. The twin action of his
mistresses hand and the dildo sliding in and out of him was drawing
his body nearer and near to its climax. His arms found hidden reserves
of strength and fought against the chains that imprisoned him, trying
to move his body in unison with his mistress’s hand. Through the haze
of his mounting passion he saw the mocking smile of the woman and once
again felt the raw heat of his humiliation. He was helpless in her
presence, he would do anything, humiliate himself in anyway that she
wished, just providing she promised not to stop.

"Please mistress, don’t stop." He gasped. "I’m your slave, don’t stop,
please don’t stop"

He could not believe to what heights of terrible ecstasy she was
taking him, he could not endure the pressure building inside of him.
More than once he felt he was about to orgasm, only to feel it slip
from him, to be replaced seconds later, by a state of arousal even
higher than before. His head pulled in desperation against the chains
which held it, and from his mouth came a stream of words begging her
not to stop.

Without warning something within his body changed, his mistress sensed
it also, kneeling down in front of him she pumped his penis with
increased vigour. The moment of his climax was terrible in its
intensity, he had lost control of his body, he went rigid as the
orgasm hit him and the jet of semen shot from his body. His mistress
did not stop as she was hit by the hot sticky liquid, but kept on
pumping his penis forcing every last drop from his body. Only when the
knees of her slave buckled, his body spent of passion, did she finally
stop.

Through his exhaustion he saw his mistress standing before him, his
sperm running down over her breasts. Fearful of her anger he forced
his legs to once again take the weight of his body. In a whisper he
said.

"Thank you Mistress."

Reaching up, she released the chains attached to his hood, he could at
last move his head freely. She turned her attention to the dildo which
was still in continuous motion inside of him, there was a few seconds
delay and then the humiliating invader retreated from his body. She
reappeared at his side, the cruel smile replaced by one more gentle,
she spoke to him again.

"There is one more task that you must carry out slave, before I give
you back you freedom. You will lick my body clean of this." She said,
as she gazed down at the semen that covered her breasts.

She stood in the stirrups, their bodies once again locked together,
her breasts and nipples inches from his face, but their passion had
gone now, replaced by a gentle warmth towards each other and a sense
of calm serenity. With one hand she unfastened the laces and straps
which held the hood about his face, with a final tug she pulled the
mask from his head and let it drop to the floor. She allowed her hand
stroke the hair of his head as they stood in silence, their bodies
pressed together. He had never felt so spent and exhausted in his
life, but she had honoured her part of the contract and in gratitude
he gently kissed each nipple in turn before letting his tongue attend
to the needs of his mistress.

End.