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| How did I get myself into this? by samiira |
| How did I get myself into this? I can't move, I can't speak, I can't cry out. All I can do is breathe, and when the pain comes again, It will carry me away. I knew something would be different because she'd told me to come see her instead of meeting in our usual place. I walked into her living room and was certain. Her things... Her tools were laid out on the coffee table with precision. I couldn't take my eyes off them. I was scared. Surely she didn't intend to use those on me? She told me to undress and I did so. I felt vulnerable and exposed, but I wanted her so badly that I would endure anything. She stood there looking at me, I looked at the floor. She came closer, and ran one hand on my skin, finding the soft places, tracing a scar, touching my body softly. It was as if she was deciding which parts of me she liked best. Of course I responded to her gentleness. I moved under her hand, curved my body in a way I thought would please her. I was there to be a pleasure to her, after all. I was still not stripped, so she took my jewelry, watch, glasses, everything pulled from me until I was truly bare. |
| Trying to kiss her was absolutely the wrong thing to do. No permission. And then her hand was in my hair, pulling me down to my knees, my head forced back. I was sorry, I pleaded with her to let me touch her. Begging was not what she wanted to hear. I smiled at her. Hopeful. But a smile is not what she wanted to see. I tried to reach out to her, But no. I would not be touching anything. She knelt to the floor beside me and began to tie my hands, looping rope through and over, catching my breasts between their biting coils, crossing over my ribs, and on and over. I was stunned. I began to protest. She put her finger to my lips to silence me. She knew that I would make no further sound unless she allowed it. Struggling against the ropes was another mistake. In short order I was dragged across the carpet and secured tightly to an upturned chair. My feet tied against the back, my thighs against the seat, my arms fastened to the legs. Struggle was not an option. With my thighs tied tight against the seat, my ass was open to the air, and my torso was left free. I arched my back and tried to straighten as much as I could, but it was not much. She touched me again, reaching under me and stroking my breasts until my nipples stood firm against the palm of her hand. I curved against her, pleading for release with my eyes; letting my body speak for me. No, she told me, I hadn't done it right. I'd broken her rules; been too willful. If I wanted her mercy, I had better save my begging. She hadn't even started on me yet. Her hand on my breast tightened, pinched my nipple, and rolled down hard. She pinched again and again, twisting hard to make the pain of it cross my face. I gasped and she smiled. Yes. That was what she wanted to hear. I only thought it hurt. When she attached clamps to my now-sore nipples it was a searing pain that would not end. There was no relief. I half-sobbed, my head hanging down between the chair legs, the weighted clamps pulling down on my breasts. There was nowhere I could move to release their weight. |
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