By bondagegimp

The small cell

Bob leaves the room. I’m completely exhausted, only slowly catching my breath. I’d love to sit or lie down, but I’m still strapped into the frame: the collar holds my head, the plug is still drilling into my hole, my hands are tied behind the bar. The cords from my nipples and balls to the head harness are taut, and every movement of my head causes severe pain. But at least the treadmill is off.

I’d like to see what Bob is doing, but turning my head is completely out of the question. The pain is most bearable when I stand completely still, not moving at all. But I can still feel it, a throbbing pain in my nipples and hole. My balls are the easiest to release. My urethra burns a little from the semen that pushed past the catheter. My legs are shaking from the exertion; I have no choice but to lower myself onto the plug until I’m practically sitting on it, and it’s supporting some of my weight.

Once again, it was an incredible orgasm that Bob painfully forced out of me. When he held my head so tightly, I felt an incredible sense of security, yet at the same time it was incredibly oppressive. It really was like a nightmare, when you’re running away and can’t move. And then all his talking about how I’ll always stay with him, how he won’t let me go. Did he mean it? Was he going to leave me no choice? Was he just going to keep me? Was it a mistake to put myself in his hands again? Bob called it trauma therapy. But really, it was a punishment for my escape and a barely disguised threat. How does he manage to make me horny while doing that?

Continue reading It started with Mitts –Part 14 →