Author Unknown
Originally published in Hogtie vol 2 no 4
Story codes: M/f, cons, bondage, leather, mittons, sheaths, straps, clamps, leash, collar, arousal, denail, sex, climax, X
One of my husband's more strenuous diversions (for me, that is!) involves putting me into a full set of doubling sheaths and then taunting me as I struggle to obey his orders. A "sheath session," as Mark calls it, is quite exhausting—but the delicious humiliation is so exciting that I never object when he tells me to get ready for one.
To begin, I must strip completely and put on my heavy leather corselet. Mark cinches it in until I am literally gasping for breath and my breasts, which are quite full and firm anyway, jut out scandalously above it. Then he anchors my rivet studded body strap to the corselet, buckling it tightly so there is continual irritation and pressure on my pleasure mound and up between the soft globes of my derriere.They are made of heavy black leather, designed especially to my measurements, and they hold each arm and leg sharply doubled within their unyielding embrace. Each arm sheath slips up over an elbow, reaching to the armpit, and after Mark tightens the laces and straps my forearm is pressed against my biceps and my mitted hand is jammed against my shoulder. After both are securely in place, I am like a chicken with clipped wings—! can move my strangely shortened arms freely out they are virtually useless.
INTENSE CONSTRICTION
Then Mark makes me lie down so he can put on my leg sheaths. I bend each leg and hold my thighs apart so he can slide the sheaths down over them. They reach down to my groin and are tightened the same way as the arm sheaths. Before he is satisfied, each calf is squashed hard against the back of a thigh and my heels are digging harshly into my tender buttocks. I moan with pleasure at the intense constriction.
Looking down, I can see my leg muscles tense beneath the glossy leather as I test the sheaths. There is, of course, no escape. I smile at the thought of the sexy torments that await me.Once I am ready, he orders me to roll over onto my face for some limbering up poses. This is a bit difficult, given my bizarre bondage, but I manage to obey. Already the sensation of mortifying clumsiness begins to excite me.
UNYIELDING EMBRACE
The sheaths are padded at the knees and elbows to prevent bruises, and are also equipped with D-rings. My husband uses those at the insides of my knees to fasten a two-foot spreader bar between them, stretching my thighs wide apart, and then straps my leather-bound elbows together in the center of my back. This is already a strenuous position, but he soon makes it worse by fixing a strap from my elbows to the center of the spreader bar and tightening it until my body is arched in an excruciating bow.
He chuckles at my obvious discomfort, and then adds to it by rocking me back and forth on my arched out belly. He also fondles my breasts, which are raised well off the rug, until I am moaning under the erotic torment. But he knows I can't take this too long, especially in the beginning, and releases me in ten minutes or so.I lie panting after my elbows have been freed, partly from relief and partly from arousal, even though my thighs are still spread drastically apart. My husband allows me only a brief rest, though, before he orders me to assume a crawling position.
Even with my knees astraddle, my fanny is still higher than my head because my upper arms are so much shorter than my thighs. This means I must hold my head back as far as possible if I am to see anything that lies ahead of me. The elbows and knees position is not only clumsy, it is also delightfully humiliating because my crotch is so vulnerable and my breasts swing free beneath me.Then I must crawl around the playroom three times. This is not painful, but it is ludicrously slow. My husband tells me I move like a crippled turtle, and I wriggle happily in shameless agreement. With my legs so rigidly spread, I must swing my hips vigorously with every "step" to achieve any forward movement. This of course requires extra effort and also requires some real skill on my part, since too much energy in swinging a knee forward can throw me off-balance (and my doubled arms are not much good for quick recoveries).
He sits down to watch me struggle through my assignment, teasing me about my clumsiness and chortling whenever I fall down. Huffing and puffing, I finally complete the three circuits of the room and crawl laboriously to his chair. He scolds me for my slowness and orders me to sit up.QUAKING ANXIETY
This is easy: I simply fall back to a kneeling position. But then he secures my elbows behind me once more and I am almost totally helpless. With my shoulders drawn back so severely, I can barely move my torso at all. My breasts are stretched across my ribs, tautly rounded, and my sensitive nipples stand out invitingly.
Smiling, my tormentor leans forward to cup my bosoms in his hands, gauging their velvety resiliency and skillfully arousing them. He knows how to stimulate them in a thousand ways—tickling, scratching, squeezing, stroking, tweaking, flicking, kneading, pinching, rubbing, poking! —and soon I am gasping with excitement. My nipples swell and harden, becoming thick as walnuts, and they itch with a burning need for more caresses. I squeeze my eyes shut and moan hoarsely as his hands continue the erotic torment.But I know what is to come next, and it tinges my passion with quaking anxiety. It is impossible for me to ignore the tantalizing pleasure of the moment, even though I know that he is not doing this just for my benefit. As soon as he decides that my nipples are sufficiently erect and distended, he brings out a pair of the dreaded nipple clamps and dangles them tauntingly before me. These are hollow aluminum cones that have a constricting rubber ring inside the base. After one of these hideous devices has been set snugly over a nipple thickened with excitement, he can tighten the rubber ring with a key until it cannot possibly be pulled off.
Before I have cooled off from my arousal, he has fixed the aluminum cones securely in place over my throbbing nipples. Each one has a small ring set at the tip so a girl's master can fasten a leash, or reins, or anything he selects directly to her tender breasts. I look down with a mixture of pride and dread at the silvery objects, knowing how thoroughly they confirm my subjugation.While my husband has never intentionally employed the nipple clamps simply to induce pain, we have had one or two accidents that proved just how agonizing they can be. Right now, they are no more painful than a too tight bra, but my pleasure in being dominated is heightened by the knowledge that my submissiveness can be cruelly enforced whenever necessary. Wearing the clamps is certainly exciting—and it is also a good reason to be both very cautious and very obedient.
He reaches out to snap the twin ends of a forked leash to my quivering breasts. I grit my teeth as he swings the leash around gently like a jump rope, but it doesn't really hurt. I smile to myself: just knowing that I am to be controlled in this manner is enough to make me swoon with shameless pleasure.Then he releases my elbows and removes the spreader bar from between my knees. I sigh with relief and swing my sheathed arms around briskly to get the muscles loose again. My hip joints and thigh muscles ache from the strain they have been under, but after a few minutes they feel fine and I am anxious for my husband's next orders.
NIPPLE CLAMPS
He tells me that I will practice waddling for a while. Instead of crawling, I will have to balance on the balls of my bare feet and actually waddle ducklike wherever he leads me. This is an exceedingly difficult way to get about, even with my sheathed arms free to help keep my balance, but I can't argue with the leash.
The first time I try it, naturally, I tip over backwards and land with a thud. But he tugs softly at my leash and I hasten to try it again. This involves rolling onto one side, drawing my knees up against my breasts, and then shoving on over into a kneeling position so I can try to "stand up" once more. After two more falls I finally succeed, and manage to remain squatting only by vigorously waving my arms and knees about to help keep my balance, but I can't argue with the leash.SHAMELESS PLEASURE
With your ankles bound so tightly to your upper thighs, you have to swing your hips around energetically with each step—and then you move forward only two or three inches. The secret is to keep moving, for once you get the rhythm going it is easier to maintain your balance. I have the breast leash to encourage me, of course, and soon my husband has me waddling along like Daisy Duck herself.
A fall simply means that I must get back into position as quickly as I can. My husband is patient but firm about it all and after a while I have mastered the art of waddling to the point where I can follow him anywhere. But it is such an exhausting form of locomotion that my physical arousal dies down and I begin to wonder why I'm being forced into such a tiring activity.Soon, however, he lets me halt and rest in a kneeling position. While I am catching my breath, he will begin to excite me again—this time with his words. He stands above me, swinging my leash gently to remind me to answer promptly, and asks me questions.
"Are you a slave?""Yes, Master."
"Are you helpless in your bondage?""Yes, Master."
"Is it exciting to know that I can do anything to your body?""Oh, yes, Master!"
"Tell me about your body strap.""It cuts up into my pussy, Master . . . it is nice and tight, like an iron bar pressing in between my ass cheeks and teasing my love lips."
"And your breasts?""The clamps make my nipples itch with passion, Master. My breasts ache for your strong fingers... the leash tells me that I am completely under your control."
FRENZY OF DESIRE
The conversation goes on until I am writhing with excitement. I lust after the growing bulge in his trousers and twist my body in a frenzy of desire. But my husband has no intention of ending the sheath session so quickly, and again he frustrates my passions with an order to assume the crawling position once more.
"Let's see how quickly you can get upstairs," he says. I grimace at the prospect, for climbing the stairs in this bondage is nothing but hard work. However, I can't ignore his command so I obediently head for the stairway."Whoa, dummy!" he growls. "Look out for your leash." Sure enough, he has dropped the end of it and it is trailing back between my knees on the floor. If I were to put one knee on it and then move forward, it would give me a painful jerk at my breasts. "Pick it up in your mouth so you won't step on it."
Blushing with chagrin, I crawl backwards clumsily until the end of the leash drags on the floor beneath my head and then duck down to seize it between my teeth. Somehow, I enjoy the humiliation of having to gnaw at the rug in order to get a good bite on the leash. With it hanging foolishly from my mouth, I head for the stairs at a good clip since my knees are no longer hampered by the spreader bar.Fortunately, the stairs are wide and carpeted. I get both elbows up to the second step and then swing my right knee wide to get it up onto the first step. Levering myself upward with my elbows, I manage to get the left knee up too, and then work my elbows higher in order to repeat the process. My husband makes sarcastic comments about my speed and agility, and threatens to take a lash to my wide-open crotch if I don't move faster. I am straining as hard as I can already, but his words spur me to greater effort and at last I am at the top of the stairs.
SEXY TORMENTS
My arms and legs tingle with weariness, but I am given no rest. He takes the end of the leash from my mouth and leads me to the living room where, I assume, he has some more fun and games for me.
Shuddering with exhaustion, I find I am correct. He grins at me and announces a game of fetch-the-ball. To make this more interesting, he tells me to sit up so he can remove my breast leash and instead fasten some tiny bells to my nipple clamps that jingle with ridiculous gaiety. A high, suede lined iron collar locks about my throat to provide anchorage for a different leash, and then he tosses a rubber ball to the other end of the room and orders me to "Fetch!"The ball bounds around crazily while I am crawling after it, and finally comes to rest beneath an end table. The only way I can get it is to lie flat on my stomach and worm my way under the table. This at least muffles the silly bells on my breasts, but it is hellishly difficult to capture the ball. The thing is just a bit too big for me to grasp easily in my mouth, so I am forced to press my open jaws down over it until it pops inside them—and then I am quite effectively gagged as I work my way back to a crawling position and return it to my husband.
"Drop it!" he orders, as though he were talking to a dog. I can't get it out of my mouth, though, and have to whine pathetically before he will do the job for me. Unfortunately, this reminds him of a gag. He orders me to sit up while he gets one. I voice my dislike of this idea, but it only makes him select a more uncomfortable gag.He comes back with a special tongue clamp and holds it up for my reluctant inspection. It is like a pear gag, but made of hard rubber with a special groove between its hinged halves. My tongue fits into this when it is inserted into my mouth, and is trapped securely when the two halves close as the head straps are tightened. The straps go beneath my chin and over my head as well as around it, so that when they are securely buckled, I am not only utterly silenced but it feels as though my head is in a giant vise.
RELUCTANT INSPECTION
Once the horrid thing is in place, I feel twice as helpless as before. Now I can only hum or grunt my feelings, and can't really communicate at all. Worse, he is getting more excited himself and may try things that are really too much for me—and I can't let him know. I twist my head frantically to warn him of my fears, but he only laughs.
Then he orders me to the elbows and knees position again and proceeds to fasten a strap from the top of my head harness to the back of my corselet, pulling my head back until I am staring straight ahead of me. Confirming my fears, he announces that I am to be his "wheelbarrow." He steps behind me, grabs one knee in each arm, and leaves me resting my entire weight on my elbows. He pushes forward so that I must "walk" along on my poor, doubled arms, and in this fashion, he forces me into the bedroom at the far end of the hall.Although my body throbs with the strain, I can sense that the evening's climax is near. After we are in the bedroom, he lets my legs down and tells me to sit up. With my head strap still in place, I am forced to stare up at the ceiling for an uncomfortable moment before he removes it. And then I am surprised when he also removes my nipple clamps. I raise my eyebrows in question.
UNCOMFORTABLE MOMEN
He says nothing, but squats before me and begins to tease and fondle my heaving breasts. He soon has them excited to exquisite sensitivity once more as his expert fingers manipulate my burning nipples to bursting hardness. Then he begins to whisper to me how lovely and desirable I am in my bondage. I writhe passionately in response and hum loudly through my nostrils as my desires mount even higher.
But then he says that I must climb up onto our bed by myself if I want him to make love to me! This is almost the ultimate in cruelty, but I am so worked up by now that I am frantic to obey him. Almost sobbing with eagerness, I crawl eagerly over to the bed. Close to it, I sit back on my haunches and rest my elbows on the top of the bed. Then I raise myself to my knees, shove my torso farther onto the bed, and try desperately to get one knee up.The task is almost impossible… I slip off and fall several times, moaning continually through my gag… but at last I manage to get my upper body far enough onto the bed so I can at last swing one thigh up over the edge and then the other.
Panting with anticipation, I lie face down for a moment. Hastily, my husband strips and then helps me roll over onto my back in the center of the bed. But then I groan piteously in frustration as I see that he has yet more straps for me. My pleading moans have no effect as he fastens my elbows together in front of me and pulls them up so that my head is clamped between my upper arms. A strap to the head of the bed holds them there, and more straps from my knees pull my thighs wide apart.PLEADING MOANS
Perhaps he will take me like this. I am arching and bucking under the lash of physical desire, certain that he will satisfy my commanding needs in a moment. But after he unfastens my body strap, I am horrified to discover that he has no intention of penetrating me right away.
Instead, I give a nasal shriek of despair as he dangles a tube of itching ointment teasingly above my face. I strain helplessly against my bonds as he slowly smears the terrible salve over my throbbing breasts and between my widespread thighs. Then I seem to go out of my mind… the hideous burning itch of the salve sets my bosoms afire and turns my pussy into a spasming nest of passion flames. I arch my body desperately under the maddening stimulus and hear my moans become a continuous, high-pitched hum.He chuckles hungrily at my distress and then sets to work with his mouth and fingers to increase my excruciating agony still more. His tongue tantalizes my rigid nipples while his devilish fingers thrust and tickle at my passion mound until I feel my cunt writhing with a demanding life of its own. My hips thrust fiercely against his elusive touch while my thighs quiver with need.
MADDENING STIMULUS
After the fires within me are white-hot and every part of my bondaged body seems merely an extension of my twitching love tunnel, he mounts me at last. As soon as I feel that marvelous engine of flesh ram into me, I stiffen utterly. A golden, whirling, thudding, gasping climax engulfs me immediately and I know it will last forever.
I am brutally invaded, savagely battered, and every second of my endless triumph is precious beyond measure. My husband wrings every drop of pleasure from my shuddering body and I give it willingly, rolling my hips to squeeze still more joy into our coupling and seeking greedily for even more. Images of my own helplessness and humiliation flicker through my mind to enhance my pleasure while he hammers more rapidly at my loins.At last, his "AAHHH . . ." of pleasure signals that he has joined me in the high stratosphere of total climax and together we shudder in the ultimate ecstasy.
After what seems an eternity in this throbbing, thundering heaven, Mark slowly withdraws. My body gradually relaxes, even though the dear itching in my loins and breasts reminds me that my passions will require further quenching before the night is over. I stretch, tensing my muscles against the commanding embrace of my wonderful sheaths, and moan my contentment with this stringent bondage.I open my eyes to look at my husband as he dresses. Dominance shines in his eyes. I give a wriggle of silent appreciation as I note the stern expression on his face. Already, he is planning something new for me.
I nod vigorously when he murmurs, "More?"