Eight Days in a Binding Contract

Late Sunday night. I’m left bench bound for a good half hour. It could take a psychologist years to try to understand the thoughts going through my mind at this point. But, by the way, I’m good. I’m happy about my situation. I am still titillated about what just happened to me. I’m even amused that I think I feel cum dripping out of me, I don’t know for sure. Turns out my waiting was not for my mental or physical recovery. They were eating. Being a submissive is what it is.

The music in my ears is shut off and my hood is removed. The Ace bandage keeps me blindfolded but Sir Michael reaches under it and removes the earbuds. The hood is then replaced with my other, the severe one. The tight leather hood is pulled over my head and face and fitted into proper position and laced up tightly from behind. The one-inch leather neck, chin and eye belts are pulled tight and buckled so the face and head are firmly grasped, and the jaw and mouth forced closed. Only guttural voice sounds would now be possible. Breathing is also restricted, not a lot. I have always loved the feeling of the tight leather pressing on my face, a fitted feel, and the need for deliberate breathing. It all excites me, makes me aroused. I’m glad I brought it with me. I don’t get a chance to play with it much at home. I do know that my wife doesn’t like hoods on me as she says it makes me look like someone who is being physically abused. If she only knew…

My arms are released but held and then immediately handcuffed behind me. My legs and chest are freed, and I am taken off the bench. I feel both of my upper arms being gripped and I am walked from the bedroom through the atrium into the dungeon, tripping on the way on the sill of the sliding door. I am in total darkness and while I can now hear, the sounds are somewhat muffled by the thick padded leather over my ears. In the dungeon I am led to the Saint Andrew’s Cross. I don’t know that is where I am until I’m being affixed to it. I am uncuffed. My one foot is put up onto the first step pad which is about ten inches off the floor, then my other foot is raised up and set on the other set pad. I am properly centered and leaned back till my back contacts the center of the cross. Each of my escorts grabs and stretches one arm up to the top cuffs that are attached to a ratchet mechanism and secures the cuffs to my wrists. They then securely buckle my ankles to the cross with the three-inch leather belts that are attached to it at about six inches above the step pads. My tormentors then crank the ratchets which pull my wrists upward, effectively stretching my body taut as my ankles are held fast. It reminds me of how a rack would work except they don’t try to stretch me past taut. Working together they then buckle all the remaining three-inch straps that adorn the cross down my arms and up my legs, making me one with the cross, unmovable. I know as I try. Finally, they pull the hold pins on the steps my feet are resting on, dropping them away and I am effectively suspended and held to the cross off the floor only by the straps.

But they are not completely done with my binding. They must be up on a ladder or stool because the hood ring on the top of my head is being connected to something above. My head is pulled upward and is now tied off so I can’t pull my head forward toward my chest.

I wish I could see myself. I must look spectacular from a bondage enthusiast perspective. I am stretched taut in a wide X completely unable to move by multiple straps affixing me to it with my head and face encased in a strict leather discipline hood secured from above and completely naked, exposed and defenseless. And there I hang.

Not for long, someone is back and is tweaking my nipples. When I’m touched, I always flinch, even if it is just inside, my body can’t move much. The tweaking is followed by the application of nipple clamps, I think clothes pins. It hurts, but I know this pain will subside shortly, then come and go. One clothespin is not put quite as deep down the nipple than the other, causing a slightly more pinching effect, it hurts more.

I am caressed up and down my body for a moment or two. Then it is a light fondling of my balls and dick. My dick seems to rise to the occasion it does take much when I’m bound like this. A momentary stop of the rubbing and then through my nose a get a distinct whiff of menthol. Vicks VapoRub! Oh no, I know what is going to happen. I’m right. I feel my ball bag pulled down and then a cool goo is rubbed all over my ball sack. While Vicks is applied routinely under noses and over chests as a common over the counter cold remedy, when it is put on the sensitive ball sack and butt hole it is an entry level chemical irritant. VapoRub has both camphor and menthol in it which is the cause of the cooling effect. I have lightly experimented with it during self-bondage, and it does get your attention. The amount that is now smothering my balls is way more than the finger dabs I have applied. And it is rubbed in. The Vicks is now smeared up my crack and over (but not in) my butt hole. The coolness starts to turn to tingling. I realize my early shave has made my skin even more sensitive to the simulation. It is a weird feeling. It is definitely in the pain pleasure category. A stimulation, not uncomfortable but not comfortable either, certainly not soothing. It builds. Yeah, maybe it is uncomfortable. I know it’s a feeling that isn’t leaving anytime soon as this stuff doesn’t evaporate. It is here to stay till I am allowed to wash it off with lots of soap and water. I start to buck a little, the natural reaction of trying to get away from something, and my body now wants to get away from the tingling burning numbness on my privates. And again, I’m left alone.

Turns out that they leave me hanging there for an hour before deciding to give me some attention. Physically the sensations from the rub dissipate as my body gets use to it, not sure how long that took. The first fifteen to twenty minutes were lively. I must have been fun to watch as I squirmed in my bonds. The nipple clamps pain came and went a couple times but then the nipples just became numb. I know it’s not going to be a picnic when they are pulled off. After a while my wrists and arms begin to tingle. Mentally, my mind shifts back and forth from ‘enjoying’ my present physical state to pondering on what had happened tonight on the bench. The blow job and the butt fuck. I switch back and forth on how I feel. There was no sexual gratification from it like I normally have when having sex with my wife. When I suck and lick her pussy, I am extremely aroused. When I sucked the dick there was none of the same feelings, but my bondage and servitude feelings were off the chart. With them satisfied I have good feelings. All is well.

I am snapped out of my thoughts as a stinging shoots across my chest. Owww. Then another. Owww. And again, and again. Owwww. I’m being whipped. I hold my breath in anticipation of each next hit and when it comes, I gasp, then suck in air again and hold. Seems like a single tail type whip or a bull whip. This stinging, not nice, but different from all of the other strikes I’ve experienced so far. Ouch! The last one hit the nipple clip, again it’s hit and again. He’s trying to knock off the clip. This is really painful; I am pulling against my bounds with all my might. Not happy with the nipple pain. The next hit is successful, and the clip is gone. The nipple is in great pain but quickly goes unnoticed as the other nipple clip is being hit. This too takes multiple attempts, but its removal ends even more harshly as on one of the hits the pin is only partially dislodged and still gripped the tip of the nipple, swinging from it. It takes two more swings of the whip to completely remove it. The whip stripes across my body hurt, but my nipple pain is taking precedent. I am left to suffer and recover for I guess about five minutes. Sucking air hard. It must have been noticeable that my condition was improving as the whipping began again.

This time they are not all in one place. A blessing. It is a methodical trip starting at my navel and traveling north almost to my neck and then back down again. I can anticipate the strikes now as the cadence is very deliberate and constant. But my body still violently reacts each time I am struck. It’s painful at the hit site, yet not unbearable. It burns. However, my body is accepting the assault. This is a striping. I pray that my skin won’t be cut, and the stripes will not last. I can’t have marks when I go home. It’s the only thing concerning me right now. I can handle the pain. I am funneling it into a pain pleasure mode of thinking.

The hit tempo and finesse changes. They become somewhat awkward. Some hurt hard, some not at all, some seem to almost miss, some are short, not like the long strikes that were coming across my body. This goes on for just a couple of minutes, there is a pause, and good hits return, but stops after a minute, then back to the inefficient ones.

It comes to me; someone is being taught how to swing a whip. I am now a training tool. I figured out whoever is Sir Michael’s guest, he is a skilled bondage practitioner. He knows how to use I whip. My stinging body is evidence of that. He is giving Sir Michael a lesson, or at least a taste of what it is like.

Must be just a taste as we quickly get back to well delivered strokes. He moves to my thighs. With my legs spread wide and his excellent aim he can get lines across my tender inter-thighs. Then just a short trip higher with two or three snaps to my chemical sensitive balls, Owwwww, and a final hit to the head of my dick, OWWW.

I hang there. It takes a few minutes to settle down and get my breathing under control. During those last hits I almost sucked the hood up my nose. My mind runs a check on me physically. My pains have subsided. I’m tired. I want to be freed, not my choice, I remind myself. I then strain at each of my binds struggling to get loose. I know it is impossible, but part of the enjoyment of being bound to me is the struggle to get loose. I enjoy the feel of the leather holding me back. It is such a turn on for me. Again, I jump as I am touch and I feel some kind of liquid being put on my body. What is this? I hope not alcohol or something else to make my stripes burn. But it’s not. A lotion, cool and soothing is being rubbed into my skin. It feels wonderful, very pleasurable to my tender skin. Everywhere I was stripped receives attention. He concludes with my privates, which are first wiped down with a warm wet cloth which reactivates the Vicks that I had forgotten once the striping was at the forefront. But it feels good. And then the lotion is applied. Unlike the rest of my body, the action here stays, and my balls get massaged, and my dick masturbated slowly, tenderly. My dick becomes hard. Without thought, I start thrusting my groin with what very minimal movement I have forward and back. The massage stops. And so, I stop. It begins again, and in a moment or two, I naturally in response start to do my movement. And it stops and I stop. The bound masturbation starts again. Not thinking through the interruption to the fondling I started to move a third time. The handling stops and a moment later my hard dick is wickedly struck by what I guess is a riding crop. Owwwww. And my masturbation comes to an end. A hard lesson.

I hang for probably another fifteen minutes. Of course, unaware what my abusers are doing. None of my business unless Sir Michael wants me to be of service. I feel them at me again, and this time it is to get me down from the cross. I first felt the foot pads being placed back under my feet, and then the ratchets reversed, wrists loosened down and then released. The straps from the top down are then unbuckled. My arms when freed fall down to my sides. I was filled with much relief as they were starting to tingle and go numb, and my shoulders were sore from being in such an upright passion for so long, my wrists ached. When my legs are completely unbuckled, they are in better condition, I am assisted as I step down to the floor.

Bonding to St. Andrew was not a religious experience, it was however both a pleasurable and painful evil one. The devil was there. I’m glad I’m down.

My wrists are handcuffed behind me. I am then sat down on the floor. My hood is left on. I am told to wait. I guess ten to fifteen minutes go by when Sir Michael returns. His visitor has departed. I am pulled back to my feet. The hood is removed, and my cuffs are released. I am asked “You want more or bed?”  I have enough wits about me to answer, “Whatever brings you pleasure Sir.” I get a big smile and he says “Get ready for bed. You know what you need to do. Remember to charge your phone and earbuds.” I do as I am told; he puts my locks in place, and I cuddle to sleep in my wool blanket and pillow in the dark.