Vegas Twelve to One, Daunting Odds

It was time to play with me again, this time in the pool. “I read you like the water. You have fantasies of being tied helpless on the beach, waiting to be overtaken by the waves,” stated one of the masters. That wasn’t true. In San Diego when we were at the beach, Sir Michael had asked if I had any desires to be tide down and then have the ocean waves consume me. I had clearly indicated I didn’t, but during the conversation I did explain a method I thought would work to keep someone tied down in the sand. I had foolishly written this exchange down in my journal, now being misinterpreted.  

I was released from my land-based chains, hands reattached to the corset, lifted up and walked to the walk-in entry of the pool. This was one of the attractive features I had noticed when we toured. The pool edge is flush with the pool deck and then the pool floor descends downward like a ramp into the depths of the pool, mimicking just how you would enter the water at the beach, less the sand. They walk me into the pool far enough so that the water depth is about a foot, then they tell me to sit down in the water. The cooling effect is nice, very nice in fact. They then laid me flat, my body facing up and my head towards the shallower water. My shoulders and back are resting on the slanted pool bottom, but my head and neck float upwards from a combination of their natural buoyancy and the rubber hood. They adjust my head depth in the water, pushing it downward till it touches the concrete floor, sliding me a little deeper until the water is just reaching the edge of my mouth and nose. When they release their grip, my head floats back up a bit from the pool bottom. The buoy weights I had seen on the tour were then put in service. My arms were released from my side and pulled outward with each one locked to their own block that had apparently been placed beside me. My ankles were connected to one below my feet. The two side rings of my corset then were connected to one each, laid down on each side of belly. I pulled, but I had no success moving any of them. One final block is put by the ring on the top of my hood. When they fastened it to the hood my head is then again held to the pool bottom and the water comes up my face to just below my mouth opening. With effort I can lift my head up about an inch allowing my mouth to clear the water a little, but I can’t sustain it over time. I tried again to pull on my other restraints, I was staying just where they put me.

“Open your mouth Cunt,” said loud enough so I can hear it with my submerged ears. I do and a metal gag is inserted in my mouth. It’s one of those dental gags, this one is a ratchet style type, a Whitehead mouth gag, I think. This one has rubber surfaces on the teeth grippers which helps keep it from slipping free, I know this as I tried to dislodge it with no success. He rachets it up and my mouth is uncomfortably wide open. I can’t close my mouth nor push out the gag up off my teeth. It also has a neck strap to secure the gag to my head, it is fished under my neck gap and the strap buckled, it’s not coming off. They have done a great job of positioning me; my mouth is just out of the water. A little turbulence and I’ll be taking a drink. They then snapped the blindfold to the hood. Sarcastically it is said that it is to keep the bright sunlight out of my eyes.

I laid there peacefully in the pool, when after about ten minutes the water turbulence I feared came. They had turned on the two pool fountains that were running when I was first shown the house and pool. I have been placed so I was centered between them. Their falling water made ripples in the pool surface, so, every so often I was getting water into my mouth, not a lot, but it did somewhat flood my mouth each time it came. My throat would subconsciously close instantly, and no water would be swallowed. I could expel it by raising my head against its bond, and with a slight turn of the head use the air in my lungs to blow it out. I swim three days a week at the gym and was a college swimmer years ago. Pool water flowing into the mouth is routine and no big deal for me, it’s why I handled the waterboarding in San Diego without distress. Along with breathing through my nose, I am fine, uncomfortable when I arched up my neck and head against the bond to dispel the water, but fine.

I am left to just lay there for a while. I’ve cooled down from my hot suit experience. The tepid pool water with its gentle turbulence rocking me is pleasant. The suit is not watertight, so I am taking on some water at the ankles, maybe around the neck, but as tight to me as the suit is, it is not much and doesn’t migrate far. It is calming and peaceful in the tight rubber lying in the water, so much so, I could fall asleep, but the open mouth and bubbling waters make that a bad idea. So, no real sleep, but I do get some needed relaxation. I am pretty much left to my own for what turns out to be about a half hour. My ears are underwater, but still at times I can hear others in the water, but they don’t engage with me, it’s a big pool and I assume they are just cooling off too. There are other sounds, some just muted party talk from people on the deck. You can sense some are snacking and drinking a beer or a glass of wine. Others sounds indicate that I likely am not the only one bound in this outside paradise. And you can also tell by the noises being made that they are not just restrained but are providing services or taking punishments. During this time, I think hard about what has happened to me so far this weekend and I am good with it. I also know there is also a long way to go, and it is likely to be difficult. Funny, if my tormentor’s intent was to make me feel like I am being consumed by the ocean, that isn’t happening, I’m enjoying the break. I could see how it would be challenging, if not downright terrifying to others.

My rest and contemplation are disturbed with “You want to try something else in the pool?” asked rhetorically by Master (he’s going to do what he wants with me and doesn’t require an answer). I assume they are frustrated by my lack of concern that I will drown in the way I have been placed. He releases me from the buoy-blocks and sits me up, attaches my wrist cuffs to a ring on the back of the corset, and stands me up the rest of the way. They waded me out to deep water. When we reach a depth where water is about at my arm pits, what I believe are ‘foam noodles’ are slid under each pit, giving me enough buoyancy to keep my head out of the water. I am taken out deeper where my feet no longer touch bottom. I am then told to hold my breath, and I am momentarily submerged as they move me under a ‘lane marker’ that divides the pool into sections and they bring me back up on the other side of it. I had taken notice of the marker line before as it was one of the commercial grade plastic racing lane line types that you typically see as dividers of community and college swim lanes, not the ‘float buoys every few feet on a rope’ type more common in residential pools. This was being used to provide a demarcation point between the deep-water diving and sliding board area and the rest of the pool. I am backed up against it so the back of my head rests against the plastic disks, where my head is tied to it using the rings on the hood. The noodles are pulled out from under my arms and my gag opened mouth is now being held out of the water only by my head strapped to the line. I feel someone at my feet and there is a slight pull down as my ankle cuffs are tethered to what I can only assume is a buoy block on the bottom of the pool. In route back up to the surface, this ‘lifeguard’ rechecks my arms assuring that they remain tied behind my back.

This is a bizarre sensation bound this way, not frightening, but in that family. I know no one here is going to let me drown, but the tightness of the rubber, the helplessness of being in deep water now that I can’t use my hands or pull up my legs, not being able to close my mouth that is so close to the water does unnerve me a tad, despite how aquatically comfortable I am. I was floating there for probably ten minutes when a group of partyers decided it was time to use the pool’s diving board and slide. The crowd is sizable and their regular water entries and departures make for turbulent waters, by design. And so, for about another ten minutes I combat the flooding and receding of water in my mouth from the onslaught of cannon balls, cherry bombs, and the occasional bellyflop. The boys truly are having fun frolicking in the water. The trauma it is causing me, as intended, is just an added pleasure for them. Boys will be boys. A while passes.

It is whispered in my ear, “The water here is about seven and a half feet, bob, push up with your feet.” I am still trying to figure out what that meant and why he was calling me Bob when I felt my ankles being released from the buoy, the gag taken out of my mouth and my head unstrapped from the lane line. In a moment I am sinking, and my head is below the water. No one is helping to hold me up, and instinctively I try treading water. My arms are of no use bound behind me and my legs, while doing their best to kick while cuffed together, are not getting my head above water. I continued downward; it didn’t seem far when my feet contacted the pool floor. It is there where I get what was said. Push up with my feet, bob in the water. I had gotten a decent breath into my lungs as I went under, so I am not in trouble yet, I bend my knees, and I am able to get a good push up and rocket myself to the surface. I actually used a little too much push, I only need to ascend about two and a half feet. I made such a splash coming up it was tough getting my breath in before slipping back under and traveling again to the bottom. The next push up was better calculated, and I got plenty of air, although my head was only above the water momentarily. They made me stay alive by bobbing up and down for well over five minutes, probably closer to ten, often I would stay on the bottom till I needed air, as it was less effort on my part. Although not difficult or overly stressful, it was still disconcerting having my arms tied. Also, being blindfolded, my orientation was based solely on my touching the pool bottom, I feared if I didn’t push up square, I could stray sideways unknowingly and not reach the surface. This did not happen. On one of my bods up someone grabbed my leg holding me down, the only real struggle with that was I had to return to the bottom and repush up, now with limited air. It did tell me that there was someone right with me if I was in trouble, at least I hoped that was the case. Eventually, I was refloated with the noodles, taken to the edge of the pool and extracted, my feet then uncoupled, and I was walked to and then laid down on my stomach on one of the nearby chases. Later, I thought that it might have been fun if they sent me down the sliding board into the water bound as I was.

Given just a minute to catch my breath, someone lubes up my butthole and takes advantage of me. It is a little awkward on the l lounge chair, and he takes leave of me after about five minutes. I imagine my use was more for the want to sexually abuse me than for actual wanting to take my butt for their own sexual pleasure. He was certainly hard, but the strokes seemed more robotic than others had been. My guess, it was a bottom sub told by his master to do me while I was wet and in rubber.

Once he was done with his assignment, I was moved to the gazebo, hands repositioned and the ceiling pully used to hoist them over my head with a rope. I was not stretched as had become typical but held somewhat lose. My ankles were re-locked together. I was just warehoused here for a while, the real captivity being the clothing I had on which still gave me a likeable bondage mood. I could hear lots of chatter and the smells let me know they were grilling. Part of the group was sitting near me eating. I’m sure it was part of the mind games they were playing with me, as I was fed as they ate, my two squeeze bags of baby food, followed by an energy bar and a bottle of water. Not able to tract time, I at least knew we were moving into the evening as I was not overheating so much in my suit as I had been before my pool dip and people were eating dinner.

As the guests and host had their desserts and after dinner chatter, I was taken inside to the wet room by my host sub and another who undressed me which was quite a laborious time-consuming task that took both of them plus my personal assistance to accomplish. I was then subjected to my evening cleansing, which both subs did together as a team, which mortified me even more than before, a fresh shower which I knew I needed, and a re-shaving of my privates. They seemed to be taking their time with each task and considerable time appeared to pass. A good thing, I needed the down time if you can consider these things as such. When they were finished their tasks with me, I was moved back into the Dungeon and sat down in front of the Saint Andrews cross. Wait here, the Masters will be with you shortly. And I sat, hands cuffed behind my back, wondering if I’d be up on the cross soon.