I have reached the point in life when I am really alone. There is a sadness as I consider my future. I am still pretty healthy, though I do require a fair amount of meds to remain that way. My family is gone. I look forward to visiting my son in Washington but even his kids are no longer kids. Maybe I will have a chance to see and hold a Great Grandchild in about ten years but until then not much is happening. ...

It had been a long week, but, finally, the weekend had arrived. Time to put her plans into action. Smiling at the thought, Sandy let herself into her apartment, locking the door behind her. Moving to the kitchen, she checked the first item. Earlier, she had taken a pair of 2 liter soda bottles and cut the bottoms off of both. After forcing the open bottom of one bottle slightly into the other, she had used glue and waterproof tape to form a hopefully water tight seal. Next, she had taken a length of rope, cutting into the center until only a few strands remained. The rope was fed through the joined bottles until the cut section was in the center. Using wax and more tape, she had sealed one end, then filled the bottles with water. More wax and tape sealed the other end, and the whole thing was put into the freezer. ...

It is that time of year again, you know the time of year when one is supposed to think of others and give of themselves all in the name of Christmas? Well, that is all fine and dandy but being an adult now, gifting is a little different. Too many choices, too many options, always trying to find that one thing that separates you from the others, especially in a work environment as a secret Santa. ...

It had been over a month since I had the house to myself for a SB session so I had been fantasizing over my next tie for quite a while. I had about a hundred feet of new rope and was itching to try it on a really tight chair-tie. Well, this weekend was it. Everyone was to be gone, so I began planning the scene. I started with my bentwood chair, which is light and strong and has plenty of attaching points. Friday evening after everyone was gone for the weekend, I got out the rope, clothes and equipment. I first put on my thigh-high hose and corset which pushes my boobs up enough that I don’t need a bra. Some hot looking 5 inch heeled pumps with enough straps to prevent them from coming off were next. ...

(story continues from Another Saturday Morning 2: Yet Another Saturday Morning) Part 3: Still Another Saturday Morning For Fran Saturday mornings had taken a major change. Her handyman Henry had stopped using her for sex on Saturday mornings. Not a big loss for her as she had requested Henry to stop. She was no longer bound helpless every Saturday forced to take being fucked in her mouth, her ass and her pussy. This was all because of Bill on this Saturday morning sleeping beside her. They had dated for several months and eventually slept together most weekends. When Fran had considered Bill was a keeper she had requested Henry to stick to “normal” handyman chores. She expected she would miss Henry’s ability to drive her to mind bending orgasms but she hoped to be satisfied with the more mundane sex and orgasms that Bill evoked. ...

(story continues from Contrition 3) Part 4 Please read the previous parts first to understand what is happening. Please feel free to comment and message me, I always reply. I must keep calm. I’m frightened and close to panic, but I have to keep calm. All is total blackness, any sound I do hear is muffled, and in fact I’m not sure it isn’t just in my head. I can’t speak, I can’t even move my jaws, but worse I can’t move my body. She put a hood on my head; not a loose fitting bag like before but a tight, thick leather hood. She spent forever tightening and retightening the laces and buckles, the only opening was a hole for my mouth but this was soon filled when she pushed a thick stubby leather object through the gap. It stretched my jaws to the limit making the hood feel even tighter, that was when I first felt panic, when I couldn’t breathe, but I discovered air holes under my nose. Then she encased me; something, rubber or leather, I’m not sure which, was wrapped around my body and the straps? Held me firm, so very firm. All the other times she had tied me I was able to move, to struggle and writhe, but not this time, now I’m immobile, I can’t even find the leverage to strain against the bonds. I can’t believe how totally bound I am and I can’t believe how I just laid here meek and compliant the whole time she did it. ...

Here is a little something I did a little while back in 2011. I also posted it on my Blog if anyone’s interested in a little more bondage kink. Sunday, 4 December 2011 It was a pretty crappy week for me at work and the only way for me to get it right out of my system on Saturday was to literally beg Peter to tie me up and get it out of my system. ...

WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century. ...

Kelly and I met as fifteen-year-old freshman, and started going out as sixteen-year-old sophomores. The summer before senior year was the first time I’d seen her naked, and the first time she saw me without any clothes. We were playing with each other: her hands were amazing, and she said I got her off with ease. But we weren’t ready to have intercourse, so she decided it would be safer if only one of us was naked at any time. I could accept that, because I knew we’d be together, and eventually it would happen. ...

“I’ll do anything you want. Just let me please you.” Jack Briscoe glanced curiously at the woman staring at him with large eyes. Kristin, as she’d introduced herself, had started hitting on him nearly as soon as he’d entered this club. Each offer had been a little more explicit, until this last, open invitation. “Why?” To Jack, it seemed a logical question. After all, why would such an attractive woman go to such lengths to seduce a man nearly twice her age? Jack was honest enough with himself to know he’d never win any prizes for looks, though he wasn’t exactly ugly either. Kristin’s seeming determination to woo him was, therefore, puzzling. ...

“Pillow talk”, she called it. The openness she showed after a night of awesome sex. The openness about what she was thinking, as well as her deepest fantasies. He was wanting to do something really personal to pop the question. People keep talking about “the romantic proposal”, but Devon wasn’t like that. She didn’t care about the roses, about the “girlfriend talk” about proposals. She knew what she wanted in a wedding, but didn’t really care about the proposal. This will work to his advantage. He started thinking about a way to give her a proposal that she will remember – not necessarily from a “share with the priest” perspective (we may have to make up a story for that one), but more for a “fulfill a fantasy” memory. ...

After 4 days, Paul had finally finished, on this Monday morning everything was ready. There on the bench before him was the box. It was 2ft square and 2ft 6 inches high, the sides and top were all of solid wood; one side could be removed and then secured with screws. The box was mounted on a wooden pallet, in end one of the box was a round hole 1 ½" in diameter, going through the base of the box and the pallet. Paul lifted the box down onto the garage floor and went to get his wife. Kay had a thing about being trussed up and boxed, so without her knowing he had made the box as a surprise. ...

continued from part 4 Part 5: My Training Continues I swallowed several times to try and remove the foul taste from my mouth with limited success. If every meal was going to be as unpleasant as this one I certainly would not want to be eating any more than I had to and my captors could easily control my weight and reduce it as much as they chose. Mistress Seline removed my feeding funnel and undid the various straps which held me so tightly to the chair. “Stand up 263, it’s time to move on to your afternoon session.” ...

story continued from part one Part 2 Contact Saturday Morning Anne wakes late, after a slightly restless night. Her dreams have been a mixture of kinky longings; with a masked lover doing all the things to her that she has desired for so long; or they were abstract dreams about a solitary life. In the last one she is dressed in vanilla clothes and pushing her shopping trolley down a supermarket aisle. But all the other customers in the store are happy kinky couples dressed in a variety of fetish outfits, all laughing and kissing. They turn and look at her in silence as she wanders alone looking for her groceries. She tries to shake this last dream from her mind and peels back the damp and clinging rubber bedclothes from her body. It’s time to clean up her fetish bed, and have another shower. Anne contemplates a full day enjoying total rubber coverage in the safety of her home, but decides that she is getting too insular, and must get out and talk to someone other than her few close friends and people at work. But she decides not to go out entirely dressed as a vanilla. ...

Story based on an original story entitled “The Trap” by Wanda Tara and I had been co-workers for a few months. We worked together at a clothing company that specialized in latex, leather and bondage wear. Even though we both landed our jobs at around the same time, Tara always told everyone that she had seniority over me. Truthfully, from the moment that we started we had been competing with one another in all of our projects. Let’s face it, niche companies like ours needed to watch its expenses, and we both knew that the company really only needed one fetish fashion designer. I tried not to be overtly competitive, but I knew that she was doing everything in her power to keep her job. ...

(story continues from I, Masochist - Chapter 7: Francine) Chapter 8: Shelly Chapter eight of eight is W’s interview with “Shelly” * * * * * * * * * * * * I arrived at Shelly’s apartment early Friday night hoping to get the interview out of the way so that we could spend the night doing more interesting things, but she insisted that we stick to the 8:00 pm interview appointment time. I took her out for an early dinner and throughout the meal she kept making coy references to things she would explain later. She would say things like, “I’ve never really talked to anyone else about this before.” Or, “I hope you enjoy hearing about Vicki as much as I am going to enjoy telling you.” ...

“He’s pissed me off one too many times the last few weeks”, I tell myself one day… “If he won’t shovel the *&@#in driveway next time it snows, he’ll pay for it!” There’s been a tonne of snow this year – and we’ve got a long driveway. At one end he’s put a post up to help light the driveway at night. We’ve kept the driveway fairly clear, but there’s no more room for the snow. ...

We were playing cards Saturday night. Strip poker. I was down to a white thong, Jane had on a black cotton bra and pantie briefs while Charlotte wore only a skimpy red thong. This hand would decide the fate of either Charlotte or myself, or would be the penultimate hand should Jane lose. Jane dealt the cards to us all and I picked up my cards and looked in horror. I didn’t even have a pair. All my cards were low too. I threw down my lowest card, a two of Clubs in the hope I would have enough of a range of cards in my hand to get a pair. It was a big gamble on my part, but I had no choice. ...

A business friend introduced me to the - how should I say it politely - “massage parlor.” I visited twice, and enjoyed both times, but something was missing. Being bound, as I had often imagined but had never experienced, being too shy to introduce a subject which I thought might be taboo. The girls furnished to me by the madam were both pretty and fairly good sexually, as I reported to the madam after the encounters and before I left. Then, gaining confidence from the friendly, understanding behavior of the mature but not really old madam, I hesitantly mentioned my need to be rigorously tied up, with all the trimmings - gag, blindfold, teasing tortures. ...

I stop as I walk across the carpet, noticing a few crumbs near the couch. My slave follows my gaze, and sighs when she sees them too. But she knows the rules, and starts removing her clothing without complaint as I go fetch the equipment. I return, carrying a box of supplies and pulling the vacuum cleaner behind me. She’s nude and crouching on the floor, ‘face down ass up’. I take the crop from the box and lay ten hard blows across her proffered ass. She can’t help but cry out for the last few strikes. “Sit up,” I command. She does. I take the thick, stiff, leather posture collar from the box, and secure it around her delicate neck. The gag is next. She groans when she sees that I’ve picked the gag she most hates. It’s a simple harness ball gag, but the ball is slightly too large, and it will pain her jaw long before her task is complete. But after all, this is meant to be a punishment. Her hands: I’ve decided to go with wrist cuffs instead of the bondage mittens. I fold her left arm behind her, wrap the cuff around her wrist, and tighten it. Then a thin leather strap, threaded through a ring on the cuff and the ring on the back of her collar. I pull it tight, drawing my little angel’s wing up behind her. I repeat with the the right hand, completing the reverse prayer. I’ve been enjoying the wrist cuffs lately more than the mittens, because I enjoy seeing her hands grab helplessly at the air as she works. I don’t think she realizes that they’re moving. “Turn around.” After she’s facing me, I examine the results. We have made a lot of progress lately. Her upper arms are nearly unseen. The strain of the position pushes her breasts proudly forward. I knead the soft globes, rolling her nipples between my fingers. Her nipples harden, and her breath quickens slightly–not from stimulation, but apprehension. There are several possibilities in the choice of nipple clips. Sometimes I leave her nipples unfettered. Just often enough that on each of these occasions, she can hope for it. Which option is it tonight? Clothespins. She’s stoic as I attach them. “Stand.” It always takes my breath away, how gracefully she moves in this situation. With her arms pinned behind her, standing should be a difficult test of balance. But she floats from the ground like a ballerina. I crouch down and secure the ankle cuffs, along with the 6 inch chain that will hobble her. Now the waist belt. Heavy leather drawn tight. It compresses her diaphragm, causing her breath to quicken again. I turn to grab the vacuum cleaner. When I turn back, her knees are splayed, ready for the next step. Attached to a swivel joint on the handle of the vacuum cleaner is a knobby rubber dildo. As I guide it into her waiting sex, I feel the wetness between her legs. Too bad the gag’s already in. I wipe my messy fingers off on her face so she’ll be smelling herself for awhile. It’s not like she needs to be reminded what a slut she is, but I like to do it anyway. Another pair of straps on either side of the dildo are soon loosely secured to rings on her waist belt. There is not enough slack that the dildo will fall out, but they’re loose enough that it has several inches of motion available. As she pushes and pulls the vacuum cleaner, the dildo will necessarily move in and out of her wet cunt, its knobby surface stimulating her silken walls. I turn the vacuum cleaner on. “OK, get to work.” She looks at me in surprise for a brief second, and then starts on her labor. “Oops, I almost forgot.” I say, as I pull the spreader bar out of the box. I secure it between her knees. It’s my little joke. I never forget :) Without the spreader bar, she could grip the handle of the vacuum cleaner between clenched thighs, and maneuver it around that way. With the spreader bar, the only real contact she has to the vacuum cleaner is via her wet pussy, wrapped around the dildo. Her hips sway forward and back as she gets to work. Back and forth goes the vacuum cleaner. In and out goes the dildo. She has to redo the whole floor when she’s missed a spot, to make sure she hasn’t missed any others. With the restrictions placed on her, it will take her at least an hour to redo the chore that only would have taken her 20 minutes unencumbered. “A stitch in time save nine,” I remind her. I give her another slap on the ass as I walk past her to my study. She grumbles something unintelligible into her gag and continues with her work.