Madam is very rich and lives in a large mansion. She has three female servants: a cook, a maid and an assistant. All three are dedicated rubberists. Madam is a rubber dominatrix and I’m one of her rubber slaves. I live in the mansion. There are other slaves, many of them, but they come for visits, staying a day or two each time. Three of the four stories of the mansion are dedicated to rubber. The basement is a large and well-equipped dungeon. The street floor has a parlor, the kitchen, the dining room and a laundry. The floor above it has Madam’s bedroom and bathroom, her study, and a huge rubber wardroom with well over a thousand rubber garments. On the top floor are the rooms for the servants, myself and the guests. ...

As your Mistress I am granting you an interview to determine your likes and dislikes. Answer only with the truth. Question #1: Of all the things I do to you what gives you the most pleasure? Answer #1: Your touch to any part of my body while I am unable to move. Question #2: Of all the tortures I use on your body which is your most favorite? Answer #2: I would have to say clothspins, they hurt but really turn me on, the more you put on the more turned on I get. I am so helpless and depending on you to remove them, that is also a real turn on for me, you could remove them in a few minutes or leave them all day, I have no control. ...

Kaa hung in disinterested loops across a tree limb, very depressed. Why had he ever become involved with that man-cub? It had started that one fateful night nearly a decade ago when he’d slipped down to that sad little man-cub, consoling him, hypnotizing him, and then carrying him into the tree-tops. All had been fine and good. But unlike the usual “guests” he’d entertained over the years, he found himself playing with his victim, sliding him about his coils, marveling at his smooth, warm flesh. Even when the cub had been so nicely trussed up and ready for ingestion, he found himself delaying. And then the interruption, followed by being toppled from his branch. Such a painful association. ...

I was between jobs so it only seemed right that I should tackle the housework while my wife worked. But before I was able to get a new job, Dianne got a promotion and huge raise; she proposed that since she never liked housework anyway, and we did not need an additonal income, that I become the full-time “wife.” (We have no children nor do we want any.) I told her that was fine with me. ...

Slave follow the following directions. ‘Legs duct taped together at ankles, above and below the knees and at feet. Toes tied together with pull ties. Tie legs to foot of bed. Shaft pulled up and out. Inflatable Anal plug inserted and pumped up five pumps. Ass duct taped shut. Anal Vibrator turned to high. Shaft plugged with long plastic plug with vet wrap. One vibrator wrapped under head of shaft. One vibrator taped under ball sack. 10 small hair clips placed on shaft and 10 placed on balls. 10 zippered clothespins up the inside of each side, tied off to bed. 20 hair clips attached to stomach area. 20 Hair clips attached to each nipple area. Pump up Gag in mouth pumped up 5 times and your collar locked around your neck. Head wrapped, with blindfold and ear plugs. Wrists handcuffed to head of bed.’ ...

“Are you ready for the party, little Penny?” Penny had been ready for weeks, ever since Mistress Tamara had told her about the upcoming BDSM Social. She loved the group’s events, and while it hadn’t been mentioned yet, Penny’s birthday was only a few days afterward, and she was hoping that Mistress had something planned. However, being excited wasn’t what Mistress meant by ‘ready’ - she meant being dressed. Penny walked out of her bedroom in the black PVC maid’s dress she’d been ordered to wear: long-sleeved with a high collar, and a short skirt flaring widely out over a nylon crinoline. Neither the skirt nor the short, broad white PVC apron did a sufficient job of hiding the tight black unlined vinyl panties underneath. ...

PETFUN Mummy Quick sheet (developed with and approved by a qualified veterinarian) Name: Mummy (human) Average size: Varies Life Span: When properly cared for, up to 50 years, depending on age of mummy when purchased. Signs of a healthy Mummy: *Does not flinch or struggle to get away when you touch or stroke him. *Tries to get close to you when you get close to it. *Does not cry, moan, scream, or weep. *Shows interest, either in eye movement (if unwrapped) or in trying to listen to what’s going on around it. ...

The following is partially a work of fiction and partly true. You can imagine where the line between truth and fiction falls, but you’ll see for yourself that I am not a fiction writer and I am mostly writing from first hand experience. It really started several years ago when I discovered that the tight feeling induced by tights, stockings, leotards, etc. could be really exciting. I’ve experimented with various articles and the opportunities that each presented. Full body unitards, long sleeved and footed, are probably my favorite all around exciting article, but they present problems in making any final contact, usually resulting in the need for immediate cleaning. Although somewhat unsatisfying for a close encounter to my wife, it adds “spice” to an otherwise very straight relationship for variety. ...

I had known Pete since school days. We had been best friends most of that time with only the occasional argument. I had seen less of him since he got married but the friendship was too old to allow even such a radical change in life style to destroy it. I had met his wife, of course, both while they were courting, at the wedding and several times since. I have to say I am quite envious of him. Anne is a real beauty , demure, almost shy in company, but obviously devoted to him. I am not married, through choice I might add. I have concentrated on my career and only indulged in holiday flings or casual sex. I’m happy enough with my lot. I may have fantasised about getting Anne between the sheets, so to speak but I would not dream of doing such a thing in reality. Good friends are hard to come by. ...

Bondage had always been a private affair. Their little secret. Mark was the instigator but Marianne was a willing participant. The scenarios were varied and they used all parts of the house, so when Mark tied her on the coffee table Marianne was not unduly worried. She had her normal rush of anticipation in the knowledge that there would be an orgasmic finale as always. The night was young and she steeled herself mentally for the waiting to come. Hurry was not in Mark’s vocabulary. ...

From time to time throughout these posts I’ve been told that there were those who wished to be me, while others wished to be my wife. We’ll see if the latter still holds true… We decided that, since I again had to work Monday while my wife had the day off, that she should be placed in storage for the day. However. I thought that perhaps a change of venue, from a box in a hall cabinet, might be nice for her. ...

Last weekend We decided to subject my wife to a new experience. After a morning of bondage and use, we loaded her up, naked, bound, plugged, filled, and gagged with a Nerf ball packed into a stocking, into the back of our friend’s SUV. We also loaded a crate into the truck, which our friend had made. The wooden crate measured 30”x16”x16”, and had a number of 1” diameter ventilation holes drilled in rows along five sides. The crate was constructed of plywood fastened to 2”x4” boards. The crate did not have any hinges, latches or locks, just a lid that would require securing down with wood screws and an electric screwdriver, which we brought along. ...

Day One “Cross your wrists behind your back and open your mouth.” Julie obeyed the command instantly, cradling her wrists one atop the other in the small of her back. She strained to hold her mouth open as wide as possible. She waited for him to fill it with a wad of cloth, a rubber ball, his cock, or whatever else he might choose to pack in. She drifted off, recalling the salty taste of his cock, her tongue swirling to greet its head as it forced its way in. ...

In a recent post, after discussing a packaging session I felt was tame, Bondage Princess jokingly wondered what the “worst” I could do was. Before that, I had been debating whether I would post tales of the truly extreme things that I have done. I debated this because, in part, while I have preached safety throughout my posts, those truly extreme things from my past were not entirely safe. They were in fact, quite reckless and irresponsible, even though I had worked to make them as safe as possible at the time. Secondly, they did not involve my wife, and I wanted to emphasize the things that we do together and for each other, rather than the things that I’ve done with others. ...

Sometimes it just happens. Passions cool. Personalities drift. Relationships change. Sometimes people just stop loving someone, even when the other still loves them. So it was with us. I still loved Master. But he no longer loved me. Cared for me, yes. Looked after me still, yes. But the desire, the interest in me was gone. He never had to say it, but it was there, after nearly 10 years this slave no longer could command his interest. Used up. Discarded. And I knew that I could do nothing to change that fact, or even challenge it. After all I was his slave, and if he was no longer needing my submission, then that was his right. But because he still cared for me, and because he knew me so well, he listened, and with out argument agreed to my proposal. Slavery is for life. And we had a contract, to be broken by death only. But this was real, real life. You can’t just sell a slave. You can’t just “snuff” them. That is fantasy, and I have no desire to die. But something was needed, something to denote; this marks the end of that life. It is finished. So I offered. Death without dying, Mourning without grief. Freedom from contract but still in slavery. He agreed. Besides, he said, it would be a great party, a good scene. And a final test of my submission. We made our plans. Gathered our friends. Came the day. It begins simply, My deepest friend Mary, fellow slave, agrees to help. We are in the parlour, to one side of the main room, where already a low murmur of voices rises. I am shaking badly. “Are you sure you want this?” she asks, “ It seems such a risk” I nod. My mouth is too dry to speak. “ Ok, let’s do it” I dress, a full-bodied wedding dress, white and flowing. It has a stiff bodice that squeezes my breasts, lace. White seamed stockings, suspender. No panties, as a slave requires none, ever. Very high, impossibly high heels. I have to lean on the wall. But I won’t be walking far. A veil. I have never married, and briefly regret that I never have. But I quickly dismiss this thought. My life has been one for the rod. A white leather belt is padlocked around my waist. Tight. Today was the 1st day in 10 years I have not been bound in some way; I welcome the belt, welcome back my natural state. Wrist cuffs, white, tight, attaching to the belt at the front. Mary laces a beautiful bunch of carnations about my wrists, they hide my bonds, my hands. Mary fusses. She smiles. “Ready?” Yes. I have no other words. Thank you Mary, and If I never see you again, never forget how you helped me. The gag is a simple white ball gag, it seals my silence. I bite down, oh so used to the feel and taste of the submission it denotes. Mary takes the lead from my Cleopatra collar, and leads me to the chamber. The murmurs grow silent. I stare at my Master, looking deep, but there is no love there, just amusement. I am such a silly slave. I’m sure he can feel the heat I generate. I kneel at his feet. He speaks to the crowd, a short speech, retelling of a slaves training by her master, of her collar, her vow. He explains what today means. So it is finished. Then he turns to me, and addresses me. “Do you Slave accept your fate? Do you place your life into the hands of an unknown one here? Knowing that you are a failed slave, failed in retaining the interest of your master.” I nod. “Then I remove your collar, and consign you to your fate” How I delighted I was the day we had purchased it, when Sax Leather was just a shop - not a symbol of our lifestyle. But thats over now. I cry a small tear as my neck sees daylight for the first time in oh so many years. To lose his love is one thing. To fail as a slave is another. I will understand if nobody feels I am worthy of restoration. I stand. My coffin is startling white. It is not a casket, and it is not opulent. Just a traditional white box, cheaply lined. Only a silk cushion gives it any softness, and they hardly offset the stark white straps that festoon its interior. But the lid is glass. And 2 small hose connections incourougsly break the picture at one end, they disappear into the trolley the coffin rests upon. The banks of flowers surround it, and I know hide the hoses and small fan that will connect to the surface. He nods towards it. Now that the moment has come, I feel afraid. In fantasy it seemed so easy. Now it just induces a terrible freezing of my will. How I wish he would just hug me just once more. But that is finished. Until I (if I ever) wear a mans collar again, I am dead to the world. And it is time for my burial. I step into the coffin, lay down, it squeezes my shoulders, my head rubs the end, and my heels scrape the other. Mary fusses about as I stare sightless, at the ceiling. My dress billows, flows, it rustles as I settle into place. I feel nothing as the straps begin to hold me down, make me as one with my box. Fantasy will not contain real panic. I have ashamed my status enough, I do not intend to let panic, if it comes, to destroy my beauty. Flowers fill the gaps, the scent is overpowering. The lid is lowered; it presses the flowers down, almost touches my chest, sits millimetres from my nose. I hear the sound of the screws tightening the lid into place. The glass is thick, and heavy. It says finality. Abruptly all sound ceases, only that of my breathing fills this box. Confined now maybe forever. I can feel a gentle breeze at my head. Three days the air will last. If I am not rescued by then, not felt worthy of the effort to dig six feet of dirt away, then I will not require anymore. I am a failed slave. The cart moves, wheeled through master’s house. Familiar roofs. I sense our friends following. We enter the outside air; travel across his manicured lawn; the box trembles and wobbles as we make our way across the uneven surface. I tremble with it. The sun beats down, and the glass heats me. I sweat. Reality of what is happening begins to grip me, involuntarily my body rebels. I can go no where, I cannot move, a white vision of lace and flowers, so stark against the dark hole I know we are now parked against. Familiar faces of fellow slaves come into view. They will not look at me, one I see is crying. I feel my coffin lifted, I sense an interruption to the airflow, then it resumes. There is a long pause; I wobble, for a moment I am afraid that I will be dropped. I know that my box is being aligned with rails leading to the bottom, that the discreet hoses are being connected. Master speaks. “When a slave submits her will to him, she becomes his product. To do as he will. I renounce ownership of this slave, and in this ceremony I proclaim the disposal of an unwanted product. However, we bury this product today, in the hope that someone here will think it worth restoration. We bury her in the hope of a restorated life.” I’m lowered into the hole, jerking slightly, descending from light into shadow, heat into cold. My grave will be cold, cold, cold. Bottom. I dug this hole, and made sure that my head will be higher than my feet. It is small comfort. A pause. I look at the square of sky above me. More flowers fall on the glass. I look desperately for my master’s face, but never see it. And now I know for sure. Even this last act, this last submission was not enough for him. I truly am lost, forever. I close my eyes in sorrow. The moment catches me by surprise, I never see the earth fall, just open my eyes to the thunder of the falling dirt. Darkness. Instant darkness, only a glimmer of light towards my right cheek. More noise, and it is gone. Frantically I listen to each load, each one fainter than the last. My heart beats frantically. Now I try to scream, it strangles in my throat. The silence, darkness is complete. My heart beats like a drum. My muscles are tense as solid timber, as solid as the lid above me. I know now I am buried six foot down, a patch of disturbed dirt in an anonymous backyard. Already I feel the stiffness that impossible bondage brings settle into my limbs. I know I am totally, completely held in captivity as I have never been before, a position only one born for bondage can understand, now totally dependant on a stranger to save me. If one ever does. I orgasm. I have made my choice. If I am worthy I will see the light again, if not, then this slaves submission is complete. ...

On Saturday I decided to proceed with some work that I had planned to do on one of our cars. It was a beautiful day, so I pulled the car into the driveway and up to the garage, with the front clip facing the garage door. Still sitting in a dark corner in the back of the garage was the case containing my very tightly bound, gagged, plugged, and packaged wife. She was, of course, exactly how and where I had left her Friday morning. I walked over and thumped on the upright case with my foot. I could easily hear her warbling moans through the case. I knew that she was both miserable and ecstatic in her tiny prison. Inside, she had grown stiff and sore from the cramped confinement. Her jaw was aching from being stretched around the fat penis gag for so long. Her nipples were burning from the clamps biting into them. Her ass was throbbing from the thick dildo shoved deep inside her. With a plastic cable tie tightly binding her soft, tender lips cruelly around the dildo that filled her pussy, her wet pussy was on fire. ...

Chapter 1: Moving Day Natsuko reflected quietly in her small prison – shackled, gagged, locked in a trunk, locked in a moving van, locked in a warehouse. She wondered how so many things could have gone wrong for her to have ended up here. Mostly she wondered if the vibrator that was slowly driving her to exasperation would run out of power before she went completely insane … Natsuko was born and raised in Japan, but she defied the old stereotype of the petite flat chested Asian. Like many in her generation she had long legs and a rather large bust, despite her slender figure. Her long black hair and impossibly deep brown eyes had simply sealed the deal for Paul when they met in his last year of college. Paul was handsome at 5'10” with sandy brown hair and a physique toned from his years studying martial arts. ...

Warning: A small part of the the below story involves a child unwittingly playing with a remote control that is connected to an unseen adult woman. At NO point does the child see anything inappropriate nor is he seen in any inappropriate way. At NO point is the child touched in anyway even remotely inappropriate nor does the child have any opportunity to touch anyone else in an inappropriate way. That said if you don’t want to read a story that includes a child in ANY way, regardless of how innocently, you should avoid this story. ...

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the public address system crackled, “It is nine o’clock. The store is now closing. Thank you for shopping at Richfield’s.” Kristin had begun closing out her register a few minutes earlier. Monday night shoppers in housewares were few, and the second floor department had been void of customers for the last forty-five minutes. Finished with her tally, she gathered her night’s proceeds and register slips into a deposit envelope and hurried off with it to gift wrap. The gift wrap counter was a short walk across the second floor from Kristin’s department, but with her feet throbbing in her heels, the short jaunt seemed a test of her endurance. Kristin had regretted her decision to wear three-inch heels for an eight hour shift on the sales floor, but the strappy suede pumps accented her calves and her long, snug brown leather skirt so nicely she couldn’t resist. ...

I’ve been on a build up for the last few weeks and I knew I’d need a strict SB session again soon. So last night I was on line and got inspired by one of my self bondage heroes to once again do the very hard to escape from full stimulation hogtie session that she taught me to do. But as I said, I knew I needed still more. Last night I closed the bar that my sister and her husband own, they are away for the weekend and I’m in charge. So I had the dishwasher mop the whole floor and make sure it was very clean. I took my things into work with me and locked them in the storage room with the alcohol. I had the only key. Some of the employees were concerned when I told them I was staying late to finish the books, but they finally left me there alone. The place is a small restaurant with a bar in the middle. It’s located out in the boondocks away from most of the night time traffic. It’s a quiet and safe area so there was no real concern there. ...