Play Time

Play Time

“I’ve got special plans for this weekend,” Biri purred.

It didn’t take too much imagination for Leif to determine what those plans would be. His girlfriend’s outfit made some very clear statements in that regard.

“Can you even breathe in this, sweetie?”

“As long as I don’t laugh,” she chuckled and let her latex-gloved hands slide along the skimpy rubber dress and tightly-laced corset. Kneeling in front of him in their living room, Bérénice was a picture of enthusiastic submission, ready to have her photo printed in a BDSM textbook.

“You know,” Leif stated in a low voice as he hunkered down in front of her, “I’ve got some pretty concrete plans, too…”

“Do you, now?”

“You better believe it, little slave girl. I will be stalwart, I will be merciless, and I will crush any sign of resistance with all the skills given to me.”

He brought her head closer with a dominant pull at the front ring of her strict leather collar.

“But first I need some additional equipment.”

Leif let go of her slave collar and stood up.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“Yes, Master!”

He was sure she wouldn’t. Not with the ballet ankle boots on her feet. Most likely she had put them on last, whilst already waiting for him in the living room. Maybe she had donned them together with the rest of her fetish outfit and then had crawled into place for him to find her – a mental picture very stimulating to Leif. The one thing she surely hadn’t done was walk. Biri was barely capable of standing in ballet boots, but only whilst steadying herself somewhere, and just for a score of seconds. Then routinely the cramps would set in, and she would either plead for permission to kneel or – in serious cases – would break slave character altogether. Building up tip toe stamina and en pointe balance was a work in progress.

As he walked past her towards their naughty stash, Leif was pleased to notice that she hadn’t just laced up her punitive footwear with a vengeance, but had also locked it on with small padlocks. Good girl.

Only minutes later he returned with a couple of carefully chosen items and a clear notion of how to proceed.

“Feeling flexible today?”

Biri made a cute distressed sound at the sight of the armbinder. It was the one that reached up almost to her shoulders. The tight one.

Obediently she placed her arms behind her back, dismissing all thoughts of imminent discomfort and welcoming those of stern bondage.

“Wanna keep your opera gloves on?”

“Yes. Although I don’t think my arms are going to feel any less encased without them.”

She knew him well. Leif loved to lace a monoglove tight. And he would do it quickly, giving her little time to adjust. It never failed to increase the sensation of capture and entrapment. Already he had brought the holding straps across her shoulders and had laced her up halfway to the elbows. This locked both the binder and her arms in position, making it unmistakably clear that she was in for it. Then his practiced hands started in earnest. Beginning again at the wrists, the laces buzzed through the sturdy grommets. Every pull made the bondage more demanding, more inescapable. Biri gasped as her elbows touched, join pressed against join by unyielding leather. In her ligaments the well-known pain started, sharp and gnawing as if arrows were sticking in them.

“There will be no antics from you this weekend,” Leif breathed into her ear.

“No, Master!”

“I will take all the play time I want, without remorse.”

“Yes, Master!”

And higher still he laced. In every detail Leif could witness the way his girlfriend’s arms shifted in their joints and how her shoulder blades moved closer and closer together. He finished with a double bow and stowed the loops between her triceps muscles inside the binder – which turned out to be a tight fit. He couldn’t remember having her ever bound so harshly. And according to Biri’s frequent low moans, she couldn’t either.

Seeing her arms forced into so strenuous and unnatural a position never failed to arouse Leif. Sadly he couldn’t allow himself to indulge in those feelings right now – too many tasks were waiting for him.

He circled her kneeling form. Looking straight from the front, her arms had become invisible. Her shoulder joints existed only as slight curves between her collarbones and her torso. Due to her arched back the girl presented her ample boobs very nicely, all displayed in the shiny latex. He couldn’t help but cup them. Leif adored Biri’s breasts. They were as soft as one would expect, yet at the same time excitingly firm. Like tautly stuffed pillows.

“Everything still there where you last saw it? You’ve got that ‘pillow’ look again.”

Busted. He shouldn’t have told her about that metaphor. Now she was teasing him with it on every occasion. To get even, he felt her up a bit more, enjoying the latex that was holding her breasts. It provided a weird sensation. The material itself appeared to be cool, yet he could feel Biri’s body heat through it. There was really nothing like thin-spread rubber when it came to trapping a slave girl’s tits.

He let his hands wander upwards and laid them on her shoulders, which were already glowing from the stress.

“Your shoulders are burning.”

“Shoulders, chest. It even spreads down into my flanks.”

Leif grabbed her strictly corseted waist.

“How did you even manage to lace yourself up so tight all by your own?”

“There are many things a girl can do all by her own.”

“Do you want me to loosen the corset or the binder?”

“Ask that again, the two of us have a real problem.”

That haughty attitude, even when displayed to encourage, could not go unpunished. Leif took one of the bondage belts he’d brought and doubled it. With a stern expression he raised his arm, as though intending to beat her with the leather strap. But he let one end drop and brought the belt down with little force. Almost gently it wrapped itself around her sheathed arms and restricted waist. Leif tightened the belt all the way down, thus forcing Biri’s already tormented arms closer to the small of her back.

“Oh fuck!” she gasped.

Leif could still shove a hand between binder and corset, but Biri’s leather-encased wrists were pressing hard against her tail bone. She wasn’t even able to flap her arms anymore. He took a shorter strap to create a cinch on the belt just where his hand had been, not willing to let the space unused.

Biri mad a funny noise, somewhere between squealing and sighing.

“Get used to it while I’m doing your legs.”

“How do you want them?” she asked with a husky voice, her endurance clearly challenged.

“Put your feet a bit to the side of your bum. Don’t rest on them.”

She groaned as this variation brought her hip further down and turned her ankles, thus putting additional strain on her insteps. Leif pushed the hem of her short latex dress up and tied each ankle to its corresponding thigh. Again he used the cinch technique to tighten things up even further.

“How are your calves?”

“Cramping up,” she stated dryly.

“Can you endure it some more minutes? I’m going to put you in another position with less weight on your ankles.”

“Yes, yes, go on. Just make me take it.”

Leif picked up the last item, apart from two more leather belts. Biri swallowed involuntarily as he showed her the panel gag with its inflatable mouth piece and full head harness. From earlier sessions they both knew how extreme this gag could be.

“The nasty one?” she asked, not without the thrilling anticipation of being pushed to her limits.

“No shouting for you any time soon.”

“Do your worst, then.”

Leif paused for a moment, though.

“Before this goes in, I want to make absolutely clear that you allow me to do anything and everything I want for the next two and a half days.”

“Anything and everything.”

And to prove her total and utter submission, she opened her mouth wide, not waiting for his command.

Without further ado he fed her the flaccid gag. The connected hand pump swung obligingly on its rubber tube, tapping against her cleavage.

Whenever she thought of herself in bondage, she saw herself gagged. Her bondage self just wasn’t complete without a gag. Once she had asked her boyfriend whether he thought the same way. Her answer had come the next night in form of a large red ball gag. It was her favourite sex toy ever since. The pump gag, on the other hand, she was scared of. Not to the point of real fear. But there was this titillating anxiety she again and again dared herself to overcome.

“Hold it.”

She caught the rigid stem with her teeth, so he had both hands free to buckle the head harness. The actual gag and the sturdy leather panel which would seal her lips would be secured by not less than eight straps. Two went up across her face to joint into one in the middle of her forehead, like an inverted Y. Two straps run to the left and right across her cheeks just below her cheekbones and above her ears. The fifth and sixth traversed her face in similar ways, if further down near her lower jaw.

“You would rather have your comfy ball gag, hmm?”

“Mmm-mm,” Biri negated. She wanted him to choose. But her ball gag – she knew he was referring to her favourite – had indeed become close to comfortable. She had been trained to take ever larger gags, and for ever extending periods. The long-term goal was to stay gagged in some way, shape or form for several days.

Strap seven and eight would go down under her chin, cross there, then connect in the nape of her neck. These two Leif left alone for now. The rest he buckled up with special diligence, pulling her long hair free ever so often to bring the bands as close to her head as possible.

Did he even know how turned on she was? The familiar tingling had washed over her when she’d begun to work herself into the breathtakingly tight latex dress, corset and slave collar. Hearing the clicks as she had locked herself in the ballet boots had nearly driven her over the edge. Biri didn’t know where she had found the will to keep her fingers away from her pussy. How she wished not to be such a coward and ask for a chastity belt for Christmas.

From the crown of her head two additional leather bands ran down both sides, connectable to every strap they crossed. Leif fumbled them through the provided links of the horizontal panel straps, then let them dangle. He used the hand pump, and the rubber sphere in her mouth expanded with rapid speed.

“Don’t think I do not appreciate your commitment,” he told her between squeezes, “even if the weekend will turn out to be a bit frustrating for you.”

The taste and smell of rubber became overwhelming as the ever-growing bladder pressed her tongue down. Swallowing became incredibly hard. Yet for a moment Biri was distracted from her hardships by the prospect of orgasm denial. She created a longing sound within her throat, but not much of it made it past her gag. The rubber bulb wasn’t round. As it filled with more and more air, smaller pockets forced their way towards the insides of her cheeks. In this it bore resemblance to a butterfly gag, with its “wings” further reducing the resonating cavity and sealing the mouth from the inside. The variant wedging her jaws apart was however of a more sophisticated and therefore more effective design, obstructing the spaces near the cheeks to their full height and depth.

She whimpered again, more urgently, to bewail the jaw-wrenching pressure.

“As long as you are able to complain, you are not really gagged.”

The oral torture instrument increased to worrisome dimensions, bereaving her of the ability to form any intelligible sound in the most severe way. Tonight he was serious about gagging her to the max!

His girlfriend looked at him, half asking, half pleading – and with a sexy little squint due to the harness straps running left and right of her nose. Leif had counted the squeezes. The main bulb had now to be nearly the size of a tennis ball, and the side pockets gave Biri’s cheeks an adoring hamster look. She was as gagged as a slave girl could be. Half a year ago her mouth wouldn’t have been capable of taking this amount of punishment. The pump gag was intended for heavy duty use and was one of the few products that could keep its unlucky wearer as quite as it was possible without interfering with the vocal cords (which would be a highly dangerous affair).

He buckled the chin straps tight, really tight, and further secured them with the additional bands. Then Leif gave the hand pump one last squeeze to be on the safe side. Biri didn’t approve of that, her dark eyes sending daggers. She was flaring her nostrils, like she always did when accustoming to huge or otherwise demanding gags. He disconnected the tube and gave her a kiss on the face panel, on the spot behind which he knew her full lips were imprisoned.

“Lean back.”

She obeyed but struggled as she was about to tilt over backwards.

“Don’t worry, I catch you.”

He put one hand on her shoulder blades and the other one behind her head.

“Lie back, but do not bring your knees up.”

Biri tensed for a split second as she lost balance, but then trusted her lover who placed her carefully on the ground. It was strenuous pose she was in, not easy to maintain. Her torso was resting on her twisted arms, whereas her legs made contact with the floor via her shins and her oh so wickedly straightened insteps.

Inescapable. Gruelling. An endurance position.

He placed the last two belts around each of her spread thighs, very close to her crotch. On the outside they ran across the arcs of ballet boots, thus trapping the twenty centimetres heels against the sides of her hip. Biri wasn’t going to roll about like that, no matter how badly the muscles and tendons in her leather-bound arms would be burning.

The girl had her eyes closed, long dark hair dramatically spread out on the floor.

Having found her masochistic mind-set again, she opened her eyes and looked up at Leif. He had surprised her, to be sure. Ballet-booted, monogloved and pumped-gagged to the extreme, she was now on an advanced level of vulnerability, even for a BDSM session. All his for the taking.

A damsel in deepest distress.

Bérénice’s mind was running wild with ideas of what he could do to her helpless body. He could free her breasts and run the strands of a flogger across her nipples. He could drip hot candle wax onto them, allow it to solidify and then whip it off with a riding crop. He could cane the front of her thighs and make her so sweetly regret that she had ever mentioned her passion for this punishment. So much to endure and to enjoy…!

With the satisfied groan of a man having fulfilled his day’s duty, Leif slumped into the comfy leather chair at his desk and – to Biri’s utter disbelief – fired up his high end PC. Her severely gagged exclaims were soon faded out by his trusty Sennheiser headphones.

“Biri, you are cute and sexy and kinky, and I love you. But what I’ve got to pull off to play Skyrim in peace once in a while is unbelievable…!”

The End


About Venom

Bloke from Central Europe; Petrol Head; Observer of Human Depravity View all posts by Venom

4 responses to “Play Time

  • Absolutist

    Another really nice tale from your prolific fantasy. Makes me wonder whether I should give this “Skyrim” game a try, if it’s so enticing as to top the rather mouthwatering dish you’ve been preparing beforehand 😉 Unfortunately, I’m not much of a game player.
    Cheers Absolutist

  • Maria

    Venom, that story was cruel! All that hope he was building up for Biri, and then? Now she will be wiggling and squirming while he is disregarding her and playing that stupid game? Definitely not a gentleman.
    Cruel and mean! I loved it.

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