Vegas Twelve to One, Daunting Odds

As the weekend progressed my lack of sound rest and physical abuse wore me down more mentally than physically. This became obvious to me upon reading my journal entries for rewriting them into this story style. My facts and comments for the last night and morning of play rambled on and are confusing with details missing unlike my beginning entries. Alias, two things saved me so that my reporting in this article is accurate and truthful. Sir Michael forwarded to me, as he had done after the San Diego ordeal, a copy of their detailed plan and itinerary for the weekend, which helped a lot. It certainly improved my publicizing the chronological order and time of each event. However, it was the camera recordings that were immensely beneficial. About three weeks after I got home, I received in the mail from Sir Michael a thumb-drive sent to him for me from Master. Written on the side was simply ‘Bitch Highlights.’ Turns out that Master had gone through the recordings of the weekend, isolated the ones that captured me. He edited out times when no special fun activities were happening, like gym time, breakfast, and similar boring events though these edits were minimal. There was no sound. I was often videoed from multiple cameras providing different views of my predicaments and use. They show up as split screen viewing. I also found out that there were outside cameras in the pool and patio areas. So other than some of my downtime time, I have a recording of all that happened to me. The recordings were not Hollywood cinematographer quality by any means, just surveillance footage from wall and pole mounted cameras, but they did plainly show what I endured. Some shots are surprisingly clear, and you can visibly see much of my suffering and sexual use close up and personal. Both exhilarating and chilling for me to watch knowing it is me. While watching I relive it all. There are hours and hours of action. My hoods conceal my identity in many scenes, but certainly not all of them. If you know my naked body as my wife would, then I am easily recognizable. The drive is locked away in my personal records safe and has been relabeled. I hope the confidentiality promised is maintained as I know I do not have the only copy; my hosts have one that they control. I am so grateful for the gift as I can now accurately report the whole weekend where before I had some unclarity. More importantly, it perfectly serves two other purposes; one, I can watch it anytime I need a bondage fantasy fix and, two, it is undeniable confirmation to me that this was all real. I know it was an effort by Master to put it all together and as I said, I am so thankful.

The original plan called for just three couples in addition to the hosts and the possible mistress to come for the weekend. More than enough participants for their diabolical intentions and typically the number of people that gathered for any other party. When Master first floated the idea to the group of friends, he got an overwhelming positive response and it became awkward as a host to not let all who wanted to come from joining, so their ten intended cocks grew to twelve. It could have been even more overwhelming; I understand there are two more twosomes in the ‘club’. They both had other commitments and could not attend, thank goodness.

When unpacking my suitcase I found a fraternity paddle. It had no writing on it, but I knew where it had been used. I believe it was sent with me as a symbol that I was now an accepted associate member in their fraternity. The noose was discreetly wrapped up with it.

It did take about two to three days for my bowels to return to normal. My hole was sore for about the same amount of time, and my crack where it rested on the rail was tender too. I had to use some Desitin diaper rash cream on my anus for a few days which helped the burning and healing. It had been both thoroughly stretched and rubbed raw. My urethra was a bit raw too and it burned for a day when I pied. I’m not sure how they pulled it off, but my skin did not show any vivid marks of my whippings, i.e., no black and blue. They had not broken or torn my skin. If you look hard there was some evidence of striping and my privates and thighs bore marks from my final torture, but I kept my shirt on and didn’t parade around naked at home and in two, maybe three days, they were gone.

Cum did drip from me during the flight and ride home, the pad doing its job. The rest came out with my stool during my next two movements. The cum of twelve men, some from men younger and more virile than me, is a lot. I feel both remorse and elation that it was put there, it took more time than a plane ride home to put it all in perspective.

Sir Michael reports that he had a great time, and while he always kept tabs on what was being done to me, he did get to top each of the four visiting and the host submissives at the request of each of the masters. He boasted that he topped two out of four of the masters too, along with multiple times with the Host. ‘Big dick, big demand’ at these parties he told me. He was sucked by most of them too including the Mistress. I’m pleased for him. Sir said he held his cum though for just me and the two Hosts. I suppose I should be honored by that sacrifice.

He indicated that one of his favorite times was watching me and my body language as the two guys caressed and then made love to me on the bed. He said it was obvious that having men be affectionate was distressing for me but was please that I let them proceed. It was intended to be mental torture, and they proved successful. The original plan was for only the first guy, a submissive, to caress and fondle me with affection, but when Master and Sir Michael watched my reactions, they wanted the scene to end in me being lovingly fucked. The submissive was not one who enjoys being the top, so his master joined in and then finished it so Master and Michael would get their kicks. I would get something to remember. The flashbacks of this particular scene have come to mind at some unusual times since the weekend. I’m glad I was bound, it helps.

Sir Michael wants me to make clear that he has no interest in necrophilia, in fact the mere thought of it repulses him. His claim of it being his fantasy was said to me on the gallows as part of a prewritten script. The same basic lines had been used before at previous initiations. Almost all of what was said to me was made up, only said to scare my weakened mind into believing that I was really going to be hung. Mike did say of the whole story, the only part he like was what he had personally authored, that his cum would be in my ashes, which he thought was extremely funny. He was almost afraid to add it as he thought I would then see through it all as fabricated. Truth is, it was what convinced me that it was real. There was one bit of truth in all of it, one of the people not at the party who is part of their playgroup is a coroner, i.e., a medical examiner, specifically an MD pathologist. He doesn’t write fabricated bogus death certificates.

As the contract required, I was never caned. I did see two of the submissives receive strikes from a Rattan cane on their hindquarters, with serious bruises and welts laid down. I watched one having to hold the cane in his hands with his arm stretched out in front of him, waiting for what must have been fifteen minutes until the inevitable whipping came, playing with his mind. You can tell these physical assaults are intensely painful, with marks that will remain as reminders for days, maybe a week or more. These guys are seriously into their BDSM play.

I was discreetly tested; I am free of disease or STDs.

I have been told the host submissive finds it distasteful to provide cleansing of other sub’s internal plumbing. It was an act of servitude loyalty to his master who asked/demanded him to do it as a needed part of the party play. He was good at it; he has been required to do it to others before, so he is well practiced. I remained clean for almost the entirety of the event play. With the frequency and the different ways I was used, that was important to me on many levels to remain clean. None the less, having it done to you is degrading and humiliating and probably my least favorite activity of the weekend. I had experienced the use of a rubber water wand in San Diego for cleansing, although I was managing it myself. I also had a speculum in me during other play. New to me was the flexible vibrator and suction. Turns out the suction aspirator was a portable suction machine that ambulance crews and hospitals use to extract out body fluids, most typically in obstructed airways. It worked really well at getting the last bit of gray water out of me. It felt like the dentist suction when having your teeth cleaned. Master being an MD helps in obtaining some of these interesting devices that were used. I came to learn that the vibrator helps gravity move the water down from one’s deep recesses. Apparently, this is a well practice trick in the gay community in prepping for fun. As the weekend went on my cleanings became less intense, such as in the number of times I was irrigated per cycle, as my reduced food intake minimized my waste production.

My pillory punishment by the young master supposably because his sub was eyeing me was contrived. This staged scenario, proposed actors and punishment was outlined ahead of time in Master’s and Sir Michael’s detailed plan for the weekend. On the other hand, the deep penetration by the inflatable dildo while I was bound to the bench was not. As reported, it was a recently purchased toy that the owner had brought along, and while he was there, decided it would be fun to test it out on me before using it on his own sub.

While food intake was minimal, I was regularly hydrated with water. That, in addition to my large, forced pee consumption, made me need to go frequently as time went on; and therefore, I learned to overcome my shyness of peeing into the held urinal while bound.

In retrospection, there was nothing that was done to me that I overly regret or wished had not happened. Some things as they were occurring, I loathed or were excruciatingly painful, and thus were well beyond what my original fantasies craved, but after they had concluded I came to terms with them and was glad or at least ok I had experienced them. All were within the limits of the contract although some interpretations were not as I might have originally understood or considered. I had favorite activities, but if I confess them, I may be denied them if I get to come back, so I’ll keep them to myself. Some on that list might surprise you. The struggle between pain and pleasure of both physical and mental cruelty are interesting bedfellows that can provide sexual arousal in a twisted way. I think all of us are twisted in our own ways.

I am still coming to terms with my interactions with the Mistress. I guess I do have some remorse about that. It helps that I feel I was justly given a proper and harsh punishment for my arousal and pleasure from her playing with me.

Will I return to this dungeon for more play? Too soon to tell, I need some more time to let my inner self completely settle. I am thrilled I went to Las Vegas; physical strain and pain passes quickly, and it has; it is the psychological and emotional that takes time to resolve, and as I just said I’m traveling that road now. I think I am close to coming to terms with all my thoughts, though some still wake me at night. I can say my outer persona has not changed; it is fully intact, but it is also rested, calmed, exactly what I was striving to achieve. At work I am still a strong, confident, successful leader and businessman, and at home a loving and devoted husband and father. Try not to pass judgement too harshly, I’m sure some won’t agree with some of that statement. I like who I am when I am in my normal self, and I like who I am when I am taking on a short-term submissive identity. They are polar opposites for me and that is what makes both lives satisfying and desired. My submissive life has given me the respite I yearn for from my busy, intense primary life.

I am not gay, turning gay, or even bi, although to some it might seem that way. As I have stated again and again, only women excite me sexually, men do not, but I do, as said, still get sexually aroused by being bound and then being forced to service or be used by men. The adventures I had in Vegas and San Diego filled that need and I hope I’ll get to have the experience again, I think. Obviously, more exciting to me would be to have sexual encounters with women while they are in bondage, or vice versa, but I will only do such activities with my wife, and she gets no excitement from such play, so that is not to be, c'est la vie. I cannot give better reasons for my feelings or choices; they have always been within me. It is who I am.

Final comment – It was Sir Michael’s wish and command that I memorialize this weekend in writing and then share it with others. His hope is that those reading my journal are entertained, pleasured, maybe even aroused by the bondage and abuse I suffered at the hands of my hosts and their friends and as such will act as an augmentation of my time in Vegas, prolonging my servitude to him. He likes to share his good fortunes. He enjoyed sharing me with them and now with you. Sorry, no, I can’t share the videos, anonymity is paramount for my hosts, their guests and me for obvious reasons.

Respectfully submitted,

Bitch Bobbie

Approved for publication by Sir Michael