The List - Part 4

The next day, Sunday, we went to the exercise spa. He had brought my old leo's from my bags, with my shorts to wear over them to hide my chain which would otherwise have made lumps. There's not much to relate, and besides, I don't have a lot of time since I have to get ready for San Francisco. J is going to let me go shopping on my own tomorrow, and the next day we leave. Today, I have to depilate again.

So, a short note on the spa. I went as his guest. The exercise machines are arranged in two parallel rows. We went down the two rows side by side, each of us doing our own weights, and he absolutely wore me out. I was sweating by the time I got to the end of my row, and he made me start the stair machine with him. When I thought I was all through, we did another round on the weight machines. By then, I was absolutely drenched in sweat, my hair sticking to my head, my leos to my body. He had completely exhausted me on purpose.

I need to get into a regular exercise routine.

We drove home and showered together, but this time no hanky- panky--well, a little hanky maybe. I wore one of his sleeveless tank- top t-shirts; it was more comfortable than anything of mine. He wanted to talk, and he wanted me relaxed. After lunch, tired out and with a meal and two glasses of wine inside me, I tend to get sleepy. He sat me down on the sofa (I have to sit gingerly these days, settling around my chain to keep it from pressing on my coccyx. This is especially a problem on the exercise machines. The exercycle is out of the question.

"I want you to understand something clearly," he said. "I am going to continue as I have been. At the end of the month I will possess you like a piece of property. Everything I do to you is directed toward that goal. I'm not going to ask you to like what I do, but I'm asking--correction--ordering you to tell me: do you want to be possessed in this way? You haven't said so yet and don't forget, you can always say the safeword."

I didn't know how to respond. On one level, this whole routine sounded like I had always imagined a grade z porn to sound. He sounded like he was reading from a script again. But the reality was so ... Well, the reality was what went on in my mind and that wasn't grade z. Even _I_ have to admit that last bit of dialogue is grade z, but that's what he actually said, more or less, so that's what I wrote. I wonder if he rehearsed it.

I adopted an equally formal and artificial conversational tone. I told him I liked the idea of belonging to him, that I wanted that but the things he had done were too much for me. I needed time to get used to this. It was all too new. Anyone listening would have thought we were bad actors.

"You understand that won't change what I do," he said.

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, suddenly suspicious. I had the feeling he was planning something.

"You already know: I'm going to make you mine."

"I mean what things are you going to do to me? Specifically."

"You have the List. Beyond that you're going to have to live with not knowing."


That first week had been a very intense week for me. I think that if I had encountered new sexual experiences at that rate for much longer, I would have been unable to continue. But things slowed down during the next week, and J didn't introduce anything new into my life, just variations on the same themes he had already established.

Once he tied me gagged and immobile in a wooden armchair so I could do nothing but turn my head; he teased me unmercifully with feathers and fingers until I was exhausted. At the end, behind the gag, he couldn't tell if I was laughing or crying. I couldn't either.

And once he had me hanging by my spread ankles with my wrists tied by ropes to the same overhead rings so I was doubled up and looking down at my own crotch (I'm pretty flexible--yoga and all that) My bottom was just resting on the bed enough to take my weight off my arms and I had to watch helplessly while he put ...things... in me. You know what things. I had no choice but to watch.

I'm getting used to this more cosmopolitan and liberalized attitude toward sex. It IS sex, I think, even when he just watches me walk around the house in my chain and nothing else. I know it doesn't sound like it, but I get turned on by the restraints and control.

One new thing happened, though. He said he was "totally charmed" by my inept attempt to strip seductively, and asked if I would, to please him, learn "the moves." I feel silly at home alone, writhing on the sofa, grinding my hips, wiggling my chest and peeling my clothes off an inch at a time, but right now, I would feel still sillier if he were watching. Soon, maybe I'll be able to do it for him. The belly dancing is more challenging and fun to learn. It takes a lot more coordination than I would have thought.

That Sunday night, though, I was spread-eagled on the bed, blindfolded and gagged--not with that awful ball-shaped gag, he just uses that for punishment--while he teased me with half-melted ice cubes. While he was driving me crazy this way, he whispered in my ear that the time would come, before the end of the List, when he would make me a proper slave, and I would voluntarily call him "master." He knew I wasn't ready then, but he told me to think, as an exercise, once a day, of the circumstances it would take. He knew instinctively that I would associate that word with the kind of B&D scenarios that had already made me (to my immediate regret) laugh. He knew I hadn't gotten deeply involved enough to use such a word and mean it, even within the limited context of the List. But what he said registered. I'm still thinking about it. I fantasize about the circumstances in which I could say it, but would still not be able to SAY it without thinking it faintly ridiculous.

I haven't talked about one aspect yet: the limitations set by the List. Of course, he won't do anything that's not on the List, but there is a lot of latitude in HOW he does what IS there. (Witness how he put on my chain: that blowtorch was very scary.) It is in this grey area that I have to trust him to be sensitive enough to approach and even exceed my verbally admitted limits without exceeding my true threshold. I'm beginning to learn that this takes enormous sensitivity. And I thought the primary requirement for the dominant figure in this kind of relationship was that he/she be Insensitive.

The other limit for the List is a long-term time limit. We agreed to a strict limit of four weeks for each column. Sounds like a couple of lawyers, I know, but we decided that it couldn't be shorter and be still be meaningful: I wanted the feeling I was really plunging in to something serious. Somehow, in my fantasies about this, it was serious, not play. And a strict time limit gives me something to cling to as an "out" without letting me frivolously interrupt the process. There is comfort in knowing there is nothing on the List that can do me any real physiological damage, but I know that the cumulative discomfort of that gag (it is by far the worst) adds up to actual pain, and I trust him not to overdo it. At some point you have to trust, I guess.

We leave for San Francisco tomorrow.


Well, we're back from San Francisco now, and do I have a story to tell. It's Saturday morning, and we got back late last night.

He had to take my chain off for the plane trip, and for a few minutes it actually felt strange to be without it. Not naked, exactly, but like something was missing. He had me wear my tight knit dress with nothing underneath.

Once we were in our hotel room (it was pretty nice: someone else was paying for it), he put the chain on me again, this time locking all three loose ends with the little padlock.

The plane trip was uneventful. We arrived at the airport, rented a car, and he went to his meeting while I had a few hours of almost- freedom to drive around town, buy lunch and pick him up again. I was wearing jeans and a sweater, so my chain didn't show. That evening, chain off, dress and collar on again, we went to Sausalito and had a great dinner in an intimate little restaurant right on the water. We had great sex that night, but only great. I wore only the collar; somehow a hotel room, no matter how luxurious, is just not the right setting. And the collar wasn't enough, somehow. It seemed out of place, a weak reminder, a tenuous connection to something stronger elsewhere. My nesting instinct has been perverted to a longing for the familiarity and safety of a dungeon, I think. I wanted to be back "home". I almost felt like that big empty cavern of a house was waiting for me.

It was afterwards, after we had showered and he had relocked my chain, that he broke the news to me. The next day, I was to get my nipples pierced. We had put this on the List, but I had considered it more as a theoretical possibility, since I have inverted nipples. Not so. He had talked to the woman that runs the business and she said there was nothing she hadn't seen, including my problem. I have pierced ears (one three times, the other twice) but the thought of piercing my nipples made me cringe. J was careful to explain to me that he didn't want me to do this to inflict pain on me, rather he wanted me pierced as another way of binding me to him. It would mark me as his, like removing my pubic hair. I could have a local if I wanted, even.

Reminding me of that helped calm me down a little, but I was still nervous. I admit I was curious--maybe more than curious about it. I had thought about it on more than one occasion, and as a matter of fact, I was the one that suggested it for the List, partly to see his reaction to something I had been thinking about. But still, I was nervous. Both nipples at once was really jumping in at the deep end for me.

The front room of her home had lots of jewelry on display, some of it custom, and she had a little clinic in the back where she did it. She was very careful about hygiene, and I could tell right away that she had lots of experience. She had a ring in her nose, in her lower lip, several in each ear, and, she said, a surprisingly large number elsewhere. Twenty-something in all. I was curious, okay?

It took a lot of self control for me to make myself watch, but I wanted to be sure I knew what she was doing--and that she knew too. She was very gentle and reassuringly efficient. Obviously, my nipples will protrude even when they aren't erect if they are held out--which they were. Since even normal nipples have to be held during the procedure anyway, it didn't really matter that mine were inverted. They went erect and stood out on their own anyway. I think they were cringing.

I wanted a local anesthetic, but she said that would sting at least as much as the piercing needle. She also said that for some people the act of piercing itself was more important than the jewelry they wore afterward. Some customers deliberately let their piercings close so that they could be re-pierced. She convinced me.

She had an instrument I had never seen before, a sort of forceps with slots in the jaws. She held me from the sides and this hollow needle went right through both me and the clamp. The rings followed through after the needle. She let J stay with me, holding my hand.

It was over quickly with almost no bleeding. Just seconds for each piercing. It did sting a little, but less than an injection of local xylocane to remove a mole. Really it wasn't much different than getting my ears done. It was nothing compared to the gag. I wasn't wearing a bra, so she put band-aids on. Aspirin was enough to make me comfortable, she said, but I didn't really need any. I don't think this is something I would do myself. I have thought about it, and I think I could--as an RN I suppose I am qualified, but there is nothing like experience.

We had time before going to the airport to do some shopping, and J took me to a place that specializes in the kinky appliances and stuff he has been using. He had me try on some shoes and boots, and then told me to wait in the car. He had a couple of pretty big bags of packages when he came out. I wonder what the x-ray security monitor at the airport thought of the contents. She probably figured we were just more midwesterners on our way back home from San Francisco.

We drove to the airport and waited for the plane. The flight back was uneventful. When we finally arrived home it was late, and we both went straight to bed. I took aspirin to help me sleep, more to counteract the coffee I had on the plane than because of my nipples (aspirin puts me to sleep).

This morning, I inspected myself. The band-aids were the "ouchless" variety, thank goodness. I am a little swollen, and the swelling makes me look a little deformed. Maybe I should say deformed in a different way, since inverted nipples are not exactly normal anyway. But at least before, my nipples were identical; now they are swollen in different ways, so that one nipple partly protrudes from the areola, while the other is less swollen. This makes me nervous. I don't want to be permanently this way. I can only wait for the swell- ing to go down, though. I heal quickly, and then we'll know. I guess I can always remove them. I disinfected myself again and put on some of the Neosporin she had given me, and fresh band-aids. The rings are small circular gold ones. She said they were a fine gauge, but I don't remember what size they are. She also said I could enlarge the holes easily later. I don't think I'll want to. Well, maybe. We'll see.

J is very sympathetic and caring, and it makes me think maybe he really does like my nipples the way they are. I know that sounds funny, since he had just changed them, but he wanted to decorate me there, draw attention to them, not hide them. It's a very private kind of feeling, since I am still not publicly proud of them, but if this works out I think I will be proud to show myself off to J. In the meantime, I am practicing my exotic dancing. I hope the swelling goes down soon, though.


Sunday: J has just told me an interesting bit of news. He says he's going to send this to an erotica website or something. Thank God I've left out anything that might connect us to this story. He d****d well better be right when he says he can send it in so no one finds out where it came from! I'm going to have to go back over it and make sure I didn't leave any clues. Computer nerds are usually pretty smart fellows. Maybe I should say "You guys are..." since I now know who my audience is. I know you aren't ALL geeks.

Maybe I'll spruce up the literary style a bit while I'm at it. He suggested the format for the chapter headings, so you now know where that came from. Also that I capitalize the word "List". Already I have a sense of power. But, folks, I won't make anything up. Promise. Besides, he wouldn't let me. Well, well. Enjoy, people.


Monday again. The swelling has finally gone down on my nipple. There was a slight infection but Neosporin antibacterial ointment took care of it. I'm symmetrical again, but I'll keep treating them until I don't feel any unusual sensitivity when the rings are disturbed. It's probably not necessary, but I still cover them with band-aids. J can even make a band-aid a sexual thing. Those round things that look like nipples were too small, so he had me make larger circular ones of flesh-colored "ouchless" plastic surgical tape with sterile gauze stuck in the middle. They cover my nipples completely, and from a distance he says it looks like I don't have any nipples at all. Like a department store mannequin. Interesting concept. They don't bother me any more, though.

As I look back over this account, it appears that the only thing we do is have sex. That's not true. Sex may be the only thing I write about, but we do lots of other things together, and I have lots to do during the days when he is at work. Cleaning up this gawdawful barn of a house, for one thing. And I have made curtains for my room, done some weeding, normal stuff like that. I sound terminally domestic, I know, but I'm used to a long and busy work day. I'm still adjusting to not having to eat over the sink or in my car. I get hyper and have to do something, so I made curtains, okay?

I exercise on his weight bench in the garage almost daily: he has moved a big full-length mirror in there for me; one end of the garage is like a little carpeted mini-spa. And of course I read--and write this.

So after working at St. Hectic and living in a big city, the restful pampered schedule is welcome, and the sex is pretty powerful. Overwhelming, but in a good way. Well, maybe "good" doesn't describe it. I don't feel like a good little girl anymore (small loss). Maybe fantastic is the correct word, because I am living out a fantasy. I could almost go for the life of a full-time "kept woman." Almost.

But our slave/master relationship IS full-time, for now. We don't turn it on and off, and it gets a little tiresome sometimes, even though I asked for it to be real. He doesn't push it by making me scrub floors or do degrading things. What I'm trying to say is he doesn't use me for slave labor to do things he doesn't want to do. But I do have to cook almost all the meals and wash the dishes. He says that is my reminder of my (temporary) status. His turn will come, he says. When we were both on tight schedules in Chicago, we shared the household stuff 50/50, so I don't mind.

We were a little ginger with sex right after I got pierced: Either me on top being careful or rear entry. It wasn't really necessary, but J thought it was, so we did. Being entered from the rear is a position we had previously almost never used since I found it relatively unsatisfying, but J has fixed that problem. First we tried it with me on all fours. He had taken foreplay to his usual extreme again, teasing me until I was a babbling nymphomaniacal bundle of uncongealed nerve endings. I felt like a dog in heat; on my hands and knees with my collar on, I even looked like one. When he penetrated me, though, it still wasn't satisfying. I just couldn't climax. It helps me to have an orgasm if I can straighten my legs and flex my thigh muscles, and you can't do that on all fours. Also, my clitoris isn't stimulated as much in that position.

Then he tried a variation: with us both on our left sides, kind of propped up by pillows, still penetrated from behind. I was able to lift my right leg and spread myself open in front, so that he could stroke and caress all of me (even my breasts, carefully), and more importantly, so could I. In fact, he TOLD me to stroke myself while we were making love this way. You can't do this in the missionary position, so this was new to me. He took my hand in his and guided it to my clitoris while he continued thrusting from behind.

As I have said before, I am reluctant to masturbate in front of anyone else, even J. I was still reluctant this time, and withdrew my hand, but he whispered over my shoulder, "I can't force you to enjoy this, but there are other things you can be made to do." He guided my hand back. "If you don't..." A thinly veiled threat was all it took. His control, my body. There was nothing I could do. The implied threat of that gag is enough, and I'm sure his imagination isn't limited to that particular "minor discomfort".

So I did it. He continued stroking from behind and caressing in front, but I was in complete control of my own orgasm; it was almost as though I were in complete control of his lovemaking. I brought myself to the edge and held myself there, and all the while he continued to plunge into me and caress my front. It was like having four hands to caress myself with. This time I drove myself crazy, teasing and hesitating on the very edge. My nipples became erect under the bandages. They ached deliciously already from the excitement, and now the ache was even more intense--almost a stinging sensation as they hardened. Which made me even hornier. We'll have to try that position again after my nipples heal.


Yesterday he had me pluck my eyebrows until they were pencil-thin. I did this my last year in high-school and my first two years in college, but fashions change and I let them grow out full again--until yesterday. But I always preferred them thin. Anything goes these days anyway, so I don't mind. I think I look better this way.

I need depilatory again today, too. This will be the third or fourth time. I know it sounds like I'm self-absorbed, but I have always liked "working" on myself, whether it is with makeup, eyebrow tweezers, shaving my legs, brushing my hair, exercising, or whatever. You would think that after a while I would get tired of self-maintenance, but I still get a kind of sensual pleasure out of it, even now.

I don't think I'm narcissistic, because I enjoy the physical act of doing these things rather than the results. Sounds like I'm justifying something, I know, but the preparation is more important than the finished product. Maybe a bit like a craftsman who likes his job. I take a lot of time with it, and try out new and different variations whenever I can. I have a tendency to make myself look too artificial, although a little artificiality is attractive, I think. Needless to say, I have about a ton of partly-used experimental makeup.

Several times when things were slow on the night shift at the hospital (a rare thing, believe me) I even removed some of my own moles: I anesthetized the area with topical benzocaine, then injected subcutaneous xylocaine and burned the little suckers right off. Did as neat a job as any dermatologist, too. That's partly why I have such perfect skin. I got nearly all of them.

I guess the point is that I like "working" on myself, and don't see decorating my nipples, depilating, and plucking my eyebrows as a burden, but rather another aspect of self improvement and maintenance, just like doing my nails; until I go back to work, I will have plenty of time for this kind of thing, so why not indulge? Besides, it's a turn-on knowing I'm getting ready for sex.

It's not just polishing and perfecting myself that fascinates me, though. I like being able to change myself, too. I have experimented with just about everything about me that can be changed: my hair, my makeup, my clothing styles, everything. It's almost like a compulsion to try something--anything--else. I get a thrill out of being some- thing different than I am, I guess. It's a good thing "do-it-yourself plastic surgery" isn't a reality: I would probably do it. Really. It doesn't sound like a very healthy self-image now that I write it down.


Tuesday. J has started on some kind of project. You're going to think this is weird. Even I do. I didn't know what he was doing at first: yesterday evening he tied me on the oak table again, the same as before, but with my legs straight on the top of the table, ankles tied at the edges, and with a plastic drop-cloth under me. He scotch-taped saran-wrap over my sex and then covered me from just below my breasts to my upper hips with petroleum jelly. That part was a little sexy, but I was mostly mystified. Then with me craning my neck to watch, he mixed plaster of paris in a big bucket on the floor by the table. At that point I had figured out that he was going to make a plaster cast of my front. I was half right. Anyway, tying me down was just to keep my attention.

When he smeared the plaster over my lubricated torso, it was kind of an interesting feeling, cool and slippery at first but warmer as it began to set. He had imbedded strips of cloth in the plaster partly to strengthen it, and partly to tie it into the other sections of the cast when he added them later. When he pulled it off it was an unbroken and faithful copy of my lower body. He freed me then, and told me to wash myself off. I had been dismissed.

While I cooked dinner he sawed and filed the edges of the cast smooth, and after we had eaten he told me to get my shower cap and come to the garage. While I watched, he covered the edges of the mold with wax and had me stand. He fitted the cast against my front. Naturally, it was a perfect fit. He strapped it tightly in place with old belts, and had me help support it with my hands.

He covered my breasts, neck and shoulders with petroleum jelly, band-aids and all, and mixed more plaster. He explained that he wanted my breasts to hang naturally for this part of the cast, so I had to do it standing up. The shower cap was to keep my hair up out of the plaster. He built up the already-finished mold of the lower front of my body by adding on to its upper edge until he had a mold of me from my upper thighs to my uplifted chin. I kept asking him why he was doing this, but he just told me I would find out. Finally, he said he would use the gag if I didn't just stop asking questions. The mold was quite heavy at this point, and it was only half done.

He sawed and filed the rough edges until he had a complete impression of the front half of my torso, and again he fitted it to me. It required a little squirming, but it was still a perfect fit. Then it was back to the oak table, where he put the mold with the interior up and had me lie face down, fitting myself into it. He supported me with pillows under my forehead and legs, and then plastered my entire back then, neck to hips. After it had set, the two plaster halves separated neatly where he had wax papered the edge of the front half. The final product was a huge and cumbersome mold of my torso. I can't figure out why he made it. He still hasn't told me. I don't even know why he had me write about it in such detail. It wasn't really an erotic experience. I told him it would have been much easier if he had used the water-activated cast material they use for broken bones. You can get it from any medical supply store.


Wednesday. He put my chain on again last night after he came home from work. I don't mind, except that during week days when I'm not at the exercise spa or out shopping I like to put on what few clothes I have (total clothing: the knit dress, the black thong, my exercise outfit, and the sheer cotton) and now the knit dress doesn't look good any more with the chain under it. Besides, it's too nice for around the house. I can slip the thong through the waistband of the chain and wear it underneath if I want, because it unsnaps at the crotch, but it's not very comfortable; the dress and the pants present problems in topology if I try to wear them under the chain.

He didn't tie me down this time when he put the chain on. I suppose I knew what was coming though, so it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Certainly I didn't fight it. In fact I held the torch for him, like an assisting nurse. If he would just leave the crotch chain unlocked, I could wear those sheer cotton pants under the chain. The waist would still be welded on. Oh well.

Now that my sewing machine arrived, maybe I can make some more clothing. As it is, I have to wear my exercise leos with shorts and a t-shirt everywhere I go, and pretend I just came from the spa. Anyway, I got some material and patterns. I'll get started this afternoon.


As soon as he proofed this, J "forbade" me to make any clothing without his approval.(!) Of course, he prefers it when I have to wear sexy clothing--which is all I have (except the exercise stuff). I have a really sexy short black knit dress in my luggage that I could wear if he would unlock the crotch chain (yes, that's a hint).

My period is due soon. I have to get him to unlock the chain for it. I'm not sure he would if I just asked. After all, it would be for convenience rather than necessity. I can perform all my bodily functions by just pulling the waist chain down and the crotch piece to one side. Listen to me. People in the midwest don't discuss bodily functions; I don't think my mother even HAS any bodily functions, and here I am discussing "feminine hygiene" in the public (pubic?).

Anyway, my period might be a problem with the chain. I have an idea that might work. I have been saving it for when I really need something from him. I'll tell you if it works.


Thursday. Well, it worked, sort of. I am not sure it was a great idea, but I'll put it down here anyway. I have never been terrific at oral sex. I am reluctant to do it in the first place (due to a vestigial but typical midwestern conflation of hygiene and morality), and have never been able to make it very satisfying for him. Plus I gag reflexively if I hold even half of him in my mouth. So anyway, last night I put on my black thong (under my chain), and some formal black heels. I made myself as stereotypically sexy as I could. I couldn't put pantyhose on with the chain and ankle cuffs, but I put body makeup and powder on my legs and behind, right up to the thong, to make my skin perfectly smooth and even. I fixed a great chicken dish with desert and fruit; I gave him the works. I even ate by myself earlier so I could wait on him hand and foot before and during the meal, pouring his wine, bringing the courses one at a time, everything I could think of from candle light and incense to little touches like brushing my breast against him while serving his food.

Afterwards, dishes cleared, with him sitting on the sofa by the lit fireplace, I by his feet, I made my well-rehearsed pitch in that same artificial style that marks all our master/slave conversations. I guess it's role playing.

"J, I have a favor to ask of you. Before I ask, I want to do something for you that I haven't been able to do before. It isn't an item on the List; well, it is, but I want to go beyond the List for you in this.

"You know I can't control my gag reflex when I try to take all of you in my mouth," I continued (too embarrassed to look him in the eye), "but I think I might be able to with your help and patience." Actually, didn't need much help at all to do this, but his patience was essential.

Without telling him what I intended, I started undressing him. When he was nude, I told him I had to go into my bathroom to prepare myself. I had filled an old perfume atomizer with an OTC liquid topical oral anesthetic, twenty percent benzocaine (which is a pretty potent percentage). I looked myself in the mirror, calming myself for a few seconds before I went ahead.

I had practiced the day before, so I knew it worked. I just didn't know if it would work well enough. I sprayed the back of my throat while, with my mouth wide open and tongue depressed, I said the magic vowel, "EE". Of course with your tongue depressed it doesn't come out "EE", but your vocal cords are best positioned for exposure to the spray, and if you take a deep breath first so you don't have to inhale the vaporized anesthetic, and try not to swallow while your salivary glands go into overdrive, the anesthetic will stay on your throat lining long enough to numb it. You learn a few tricks working ENT and internal medicine.

After several applications, each time spitting out the residue rather than swallowing, the back of my throat had that thick feeling that accompanies numbness. The rest of my mouth was beginning to feel tingly, too. Now I could apply the anesthetic directly to the back of my throat with a cotton swab without triggering a gag reflex. I rinsed my mouth well with water so I didn't reduce his sensitivity (that would defeat the purpose for sure).

Almost as an afterthought, I brought the hand mirror. I wanted to see what I looked like while doing this for him. You have to understand: this was a very daring thing for me to do. He is the only person I have ever done oral sex for (no-one, not even J, has ever done it to me. In case I didn't tell you, he's a midwesterner, too.) and I have only done it a few times for him, and not well even then. My heart wasn't in it. I have never really gotten over the feeling it is unhygienic, and I've never given him an orgasm that way. But I'm working on it.

When I went back out to the living room and told him I was ready, my voice was different, or maybe because I was excited it just felt different, kind of husky and low. No... it definitely sounded different.

A single touch of my hand and he was ready. He didn't even know what he was anticipating, but he obviously knew it was something. He leaned back on the sofa and I knelt between his legs on the fleeced rug. I took him into my mouth and sucked on the end of his penis, rotating my head around and pressing my near-numb tongue against the underside. With every heartbeat I could feel him pulse larger and larger in my mouth.

Tentatively, I slid forward. When he reached the back of my mouth, I didn't gag. I almost did, but it was so easily controlled it was forgotten in seconds. So far so good. I stroked back and pushed forward again, this time a little deeper. He was in firm contact with the very back of my mouth and I was still in control, so I went with that for a while and experimented with trying to relax my throat and get the feel of it. He felt larger than I had hoped he would, but not too large that I couldn't slide forward a little more.

Finally he was in contact with the back of my throat, and my breath was shut off. I backed off, gagging slightly but unnecessarily. I needed to learn to coordinate my breathing. I took a few deep breaths, inhaled, and tried again. Again, I took him to the back of my throat a few times experimentally, and tried contracting my throat around him. He gave a slight moan. Good sign, but I had my own problems to concentrate on. I pushed a little more, getting the feel of going even deeper. I could tell he wanted to push, but was keeping strict control of himself. I kept this up for a while, getting accustomed to the feeling. I was too slow and tentative to give him an orgasm, but one step at a time. I even tried swallowing motions, although I couldn't really complete the action. I actually had him all the way in! I was secretly exultant.

I had propped the mirror against the arm of the sofa so I could reach it and look at myself while I had him inside. I had to open my mouth very wide, and had to use my lips to keep my teeth from scraping him, so I looked a little funny, but no more unattractive than with that gag (I don't believe it, but J tells me I look beautiful with that gag in). When I take him all the way in, though, my throat is distorted: kind of distended like a croaking frog. It looks weird, like I have an iodine deficiency or something. You can tell he's in there even from the outside. Not to mention the inside.

I continued experimenting until the anesthetic began to wear off. It doesn't last long. But even then I was able to take him all the way in. So I kept on. It's really just a knack. My gag reflex seemed to be under control enough for me to continue, but my throat finally began to feel weird, so I ended up stopping before he had an orgasm.

J was pretty turned on, though. Basically I had worked him into quite a state, but hadn't given him release. I could see he was almost in pain. It gave me a secret feeling of power. And pride. I was delighted with myself. He was delighted with me too: he recognized that what I had done was quite an accomplishment for me, and made our subsequent lovemaking particularly tender and special for me. He seems to know all the right things to do, when to change the tempo, shift positions, everything.

This morning when I got up I was a little hoarse, and I'm afraid I hammed it up a bit more than was necessary to get sympathy I didn't really deserve. I think I could try it again, maybe this time with no anesthetic. I discovered that caressing the end of his penis with my lips and tongue, and only occasionally engulfing him completely has the best effect. J says a mouth is not designed to be a substitute for a vagina, but it can be very interesting nonetheless. The oral sex is incredible, he says, but even so, it's not as fulfilling as normal frontal sex. Whatever that is. I haven't had normal sex since we got back together, although a lot of it has been frontal.

Anyway, he unlocked the chain for me. Now it is just a belt with the crotch piece hanging down, which I wear to the side. It looks kind of pretty. I like gold. The link where he welded it is kind of burned looking, though. I wish it could be re-plated. He told me I didn't have to do the "deep throat" routine just to persuade him, though. He would have unlocked it for my period if I had asked.


Friday. My period is here, and neither of us likes sex during this time. I know some don't mind, but I do. Thank goodness he gave me some panties from my suitcase, too.

My nipples aren't healed yet, but now I can see how they will look. I love them. While they are just resting, inverted, the little rings half protrude from their hiding places. I haven't shown J yet. I'm really excited about them. Can't wait until I can put other jewelry on them. Small pendants and such. I wish I had thought to get some while we were in the piercing clinic in San Francisco.


Saturday. I'm in big trouble. Or at least I will be when J reads this. I bought a package of hacksaw blades on a shopping trip in town after we got back from San Francisco. I don't know what possessed me, I suppose I thought of them as insurance in case I really needed to get out of this situation I'm in. My feelings oscillate between a temptation/fear to explore bondage more deeply (at least I can call a spade a spade now: Bondage. Bondagebondagebondage) and a feeling of shame at what I have done and what he might make me do. I'm a sort of combined midwestern fool and an angel, wanting to rush in and fearing to tread at the same time. Anyway, I thought of the hacksaw blades as insurance. And a personal proof that I have at least a vestigial intention to resist this ... process. I was going to say experiment, but it's more than an experiment.

But I've decided to let J find them.

(They are laid flat under the rug in the living room,

J, behind the big sofa. There are three of them)

I'm doing this because not betraying you is more

important to me than insurance.

Besides, the only times I have considered escaping were when it was clearly impossible for me to use a hacksaw anyway...



++++ Note from the Future ++++

This is a load of bull. I wanted to show J I was committed to him. That's why I told him about the hacksaw blades. And I wanted to give him cause to take the next step--to punish me. That's why I bought the blades in the first place. I could have just buried the blades in the woods while he was at work and he would never have known. But I didn't. I was in a rush to descend to greater depths without having to admit to myself that this was what I wanted. I've got all that sorted out in my mind now. At least I know what I want.

++++ End of Note ++++

... So tomorrow you will know, J, but before you punish me I want you to remember why I told you this voluntarily: I love you and am yours to do with as you please.

I think my nipples are almost healed now. I can move the rings with only a little tenderness, and they've stopped exuding fluids and crusting up. One or two more days of antibacterial ointment should do it.


Sunday. J didn't read yesterday's entry, so I have a reprieve. I've been extra good. Last night I told him I wanted to make something really sexy to wear for him. He told me to make a body stocking. What he means is a unitard. It will be easiest to modify one from [store name deleted] rather than make one from scratch. It has to be black, and cover me completely. The instructions were detailed.

I guess this is our week for arts and crafts. In addition to the body stocking, J has been fitting me for something. I'm not sure what, but he has measured my thighs, waist, hips, upper and lower arms in several places, inseam, sleeve length, neck, everything. He then disappears into the garage where I hear pounding and scraping noises. And machines. I'm not allowed to watch. I think he's too preoccupied to proofread my latest entries. Maybe he won't read them at all. I wish he'd hurry up and finish his project, though. Actually, he says it's three projects, all to do with me. Anyway, I miss using the weight bench, since it's locked in the garage while he's at work.

I've been practicing my exotic dancing religiously every day. I even think I'm getting pretty good. I can make my stomach undulate in a very interesting way, although it looks a lot sexier than it feels. J has unlocked my chain so I have more freedom of movement, although it wasn't really a hindrance. I loop the loose end and lock it at my waist, letting it hang at my hip. It looks kind of nice that way. Of course I can't get it off, since it is still welded (or whatever) around my waist.


Monday: This morning I went out and bought a black unitard body stocking and a yard of lycra. Finding black gloves was pretty difficult. They aren't lycra, and all of the black material I bought is in different shades of black. It's surprisingly hard to match black. But I will start on it later this afternoon. I am to be covered from my toes to my fingertips, with a zipper from the middle of my back, down between my legs, and up to my front neckline. The neckline will be a rollover turtleneck that, when unrolled, has a zipper along the top edge under my chin, zipping to a hood--a ski mask with no openings. It will cover my head completely.

He says to make it very tight, so I bought the body stocking a size too small. All I really have to do is sew the gloves to the sleeves and make some feet to attach to the ankles, then work on the hood.


Tuesday. My period will be over tomorrow. He STILL hasn't read the latest entries (about the hacksaw blades). Normally he sits at the computer and proofs them while I cook dinner, but now he is working in the garage every evening. Sometimes he lets me exercise while he's working and I can watch what he is doing, but I can't really tell what he is making. It involves leather, and I have a pretty good idea what it is for. I'm not a complete idiot. But he also keeps two things covered up with old sheets. One is three feet tall and sits on his workbench. The other is on the floor. Sometimes the smell of leather is strong on his hands and in the garage. Sometimes it is solvents of some kind. I think the plaster mold of me, whatever it was for, was a failure, though. I saw it all broken up in a cardboard box last night. Today it is out by the garbage cans.

I've been having trouble perfecting a design for the black hood. It's a kind of Catch-22: It doesn't quite fit right, and I can't see to correct it while I have it on. J said cut slits for the eyes and sew them up last. He also said I should leave small holes for my nostrils. I said that I can breathe through the material, but he said to do it anyway: I might need to breathe more quickly, he said. Hmmm. I also had to cut off the thumbs of the gloves and sew them up. And he doesn't like the way the leotards squash my breasts. He wants me to build shaped, conical cups into the front to cradle me like a bra. I'll look like Darth Madonna. Won't be able to hitchhike, though....

As one of the witches in Macbeth says, "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes..." Wasn't that the title of a good Ray Bradbury novel? Something about people made into sideshow freaks by the circus owner. 'Something Wicked' was the title, I think. Good yarn. Another one for you SF B&D fans on the net: 'The Real Story' by Stephen R. Donaldson. I found it on the bookshelf here in the house. The rest of his stuff seems to be rather dull dungeons and dragons fantasy but this is about 80% B&D. Don't miss it if you can.


Wednesday. Last night I told J that I thought my nipples were healed completely and showed him. They really have healed perfectly; a little sensitive, still, but healed. The tiny rings that pierce them are barely bigger than the nipples themselves. When they aren't erect, only half the ring protrudes from the little folds in my areolas. He had been saving a small surprise for me, the dear. He'd bought a pair of very small pendants for me. They are gold with tiny garnet teardrops at the ends. They are sweet. I remember them from the shop in San Francisco. He put them on for me. They dangle and brush against my areolas when I move; they make me feel sexy--more aware of myself. He said he still thought the band-aids were sexy. Hmmmm.

Then he put something else on me. It was a kind of a leather g-string, but the strap between my legs was much wider than a string. It smelled strongly of leather. Actually, it is neatsfoot oil and wax, he says. It has two belt buckles in front, although it really doesn't need more than one, with a central wide strap between my legs. Very wide. The end of the strap buckles to the waistband behind my back. He pulled the strap very tight between my legs. Very tight. I think he was just trying it on for size, though, because he let me take it off after a few minutes. We made love afterwards, and it was satisfying (three orgasms, countthemthree) but not quite as fulfilling as the first few times after I came here. I wonder if bondage can become boring.

He has all of next week off, and says he will spend it all with me.

Depilation time again.


Thursday. He proofread last night. My God. What have I done. I've never seen him so remote. I wonder what he's going to do. I'm only half looking forward to it. I mean, everything he has done to me so far has been a turn-on. But I'm a little nervous now, the way he's been acting. Usually there are hints that he's just kidding. Well, not kidding, exactly, but playing a role. Not any more, though. He told me to follow him out to the living room, where he made me pull back the rug and give him the three hacksaw blades. He took them, then locked me in my room.

At bedtime he came back and told me to use the bathroom. Then he relocked my chain, pulling it up so tight in back that he had eight links left over beyond the lock. It was compressed tightly --not quite painfully but certainly uncomfortably--between my labia, forcing them apart and pushing them to the sides. The chain was held taut and rigidly in the crevice of my behind; I could feel it against the hip bones at my waist, it was pulling down so hard on them. I couldn't even get a finger under it very easily in places. He locked another length of chain to the leftover loose links at the center of my back and with another lock, attached a some heavy weights from his weight bench. A ball and chain. He left me that way all night. I barely slept. I wonder if he really thinks I trust him so little I have to keep hacksaw blades around. That's really not the reason.

This morning he loosened the chain, but left the weights on. At least I can move around, but I have to carry the weight with me wherever I go. I haven't heard the last of this. He didn't say a word to me this morning. I'll keep working on the body suit. All that is left is the hood and the zippers at the neck. It's not going to be easy working around my chains. I can put the bodysuit on over them, but the chain will have to protrude from the neckline while I am trying it on. Before he proofed the last entry I had asked if I could make an exotic dancer's outfit. He said yes, but I don't have all I need to finish it. At least I'll get started. Maybe he'll be pleased if I dance well for him.

Sorry if this is disjointed, but I'm a little preoccupied. I don't know what he's going to do to me, but the tight chain isn't the last of it.