Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

Indulging Him

by Salokin

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© Copyright 2007 - Salokin - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbm; F/m; bdsm; ice; torment; cons; XX

She would soon arrive and I must be ready for our game. I begin by stripping off my clothes quickly and placing them in a pile on the side of the basement room. Next to the clothing is a short black end table, upon which I place a pitcher of water, a glass, a riding crop, and a few lit candles. Knowing that she has picked these things to have ready for her, my gaze lingers on the candles, knowing full well the possibilities that lay in their flame. Shaking the thoughts from my head, I realize that making my preparations in the nude has started to get me in the mood, but after a few gentle strokes I stop myself. Wouldn’t want to spoil my appetite by sneaking cookies before dinner, would I?

Instead I tend to myself in other ways: I tie my ankles to the ends of a pole, forcing them wide apart. Next I swing a pair of handcuffs over the beam above me before blindfolding myself with a thick red scarf. Standing there in my self imposed darkness, I waddle a little nervously to check the knots on my ankles. The moment of truth is upon me, and a shudder runs down my spine as I raise my arms upward and put my wrists into the cuffs. The latches click loudly as I close my right then my left wrist into the cold metal. I test the bonds, the realization of that familiar helplessness dawning on me. It also occurs to me that I can’t put much weight on the handcuffs without hurting my wrists. Restraining without supporting, the bondage is simple but effective.

Naked and bound, unable to see the room around me, I swear I can hear a million little noises, each bringing hope that she has arrived. Minutes pass and the tension builds until I hear the door swing slowly open. The deliberate click of heels on the cold tile floor announces her presence as she crosses the room to where I stand. The feeling of being exposed grows as she approaches, until the room falls silent. I figure that she must be sizing me up. Her steps resume, walking to what would be face to face then starting a slow circle around me. Her touch, gentle but surprising, sends thrills through me, her handing sliding around my waist as she completes a circuit of my body. She leanes over and kisses me lightly, pulling away as I try to prolong the contact by leaning towards her. She “hmph”s when our lips break, and I can almost see the smirk on her face past the darkness.

“Hello, lover,” She whispers softly before leaning over once again. This time she does not pull back, but leans in against me pressing her lips and body against mine. I feel the cottony fabric of her top and the rub of her jeans as her knee rubs my inner thigh. Our mouths lock in a lingering kiss as she puts her hand on my cock and strokes it gently up and down, it immediately responding to her touch.

Time seems to slow, but still it feels so soon when she backs off. “But we’re not here for that are we?” she says with a little frustration in her voice, now lecturing to her audience of one. By the sound of it she is standing in front of me talking straight to my face. “If you wanted to hop in between the sheets and have some fun you wouldn’t be all trussed up like this. No, being the generous girl I am, I’m going to indulge your little fantasy. That being the case, you will not speak unless I tell you to, and when you do you will always refer to me as Mistress. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress”

“Good boy,” she says, patting me on the cheek before turning away. I can hear her walk to the table I prepared at her behest, and hear her pick something up. “But boy isn’t really the proper term for you is it?” she continues, slapping the riding crop lightly in her hand, an indication of things to come as she circles my bound body. “But before I get to that I have a simple instruction for you. I don’t want this game of yours to be less than it could be, so you will help guide me. Whenever I hit you, if you can take more, you will simply say ‘harder’. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear a peep out of you, understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good. Now on to what I will call you, because clearly it isn’t ‘boy’. Normal boys don’t desire these things,” and she punctuated her statement with a slap to my back.


“Harder, what?” she hisses into my ear, suddenly pressing against my back and pulling my head back by my hair.

“Harder, Mistress.”

And she obliges me with a heavy hit to my ass before continuing her tour around my vulnerable body. “As I was saying, this seems like a particularly dirty thing to be doing.”

[Whap, a hit to my chest]

“Harder, Mistress.”

“Dirty, like some perverted slut.”

[Whap, my back]

“Harder, Mistress.”

“And that’s what you are, you realize, you’re my dirty little slut.”


“Harder, Mistress.”

“Say, it. Say you are my dirt little slut.”

“I’m your dirty little slut, Mistress.”


“Harder, Mistress.”

“I’ve decided that given these revelations, you are now to say, ‘Your dirty slut wants it harder.’”


“Your dirty slut wants it harder, Mistress.”

The crop roams my body.


“Your dirty slut wants it harder, Mistress.”

Never hitting the same place twice.


“Your dirty slut wants it harder, Mistress.”

Each hit a bit of ecstasy.


“Your dirty slut wants it harder, Mistress.”

The increasing pain making me harder and harder.


“Your dirty slut wants it harder, Mistress.”

But everyone has their limits.


“Oh, so is that how far you want to take this? Good, I hope you’re enjoying it, slut.”


“Tell me you’re enjoying it, slut.” And she punctuates the statement with another hit.


“Your slut is enjoying it, Mistress”

“Yes you certainly seem to be.” She says as she uses the crop to lift my cock just a little, before hitting my inner thigh.


I jump at the hit.

“But what if I hit you here, I wonder?” and she lifts my balls with the crop, then hitting my other thigh.


Further up…




And closer…


Then suddenly, much softer, but I guess it would have to be, she hits my balls.


And I cringe and tighten, trying to curl defensively but unable to do so.

“Didn’t like that so much, hmm? Ah well, I could use a drink anyway. Beating a dirty slut like you is thirsty work.” And I hear her walk to the table and lay her riding crop down. “Wasn’t it nice of me to do so, to put in all that effort for you?”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

I hear the tinkle of the ice in the pitcher as she pours herself a glass of water.

“Damn right, thank me.”

I hear her swallow as she drinks.

“I really like the candles by the way. They lend a nice atmosphere to the room.”

She is standing in front of me once more.

“Now, I want you to stay as still as you can.” I suck in my breath when I feel her put an ice cube to my chest. She holds it there, slowly drawing circles over the now hard and quite sensitive nipple. The ice travels down my front, and to the side, and up again. She experiments, testing how I wriggle in response to her chill touch.

“I have to wonder which will get the bigger response, this” and the ice jumps to the top of my spine, causing me to thrust my hips forward and arch my back. She giggles, and torturously travels down my back, giggling again as I arch even further, loving the cold touch but fleeing from it all the same. When she reaches the top of my ass she stops and allows me a moment to relax my body.

“Or this!” and she puts the ice cube against my inner thigh. I jerk away violently.

“Stay still, slut!” she yells before putting the ice cube back where it was. I let out one long prolonged gasp as I will myself not to move, the pitch changing as she persists, tracing up toward my crotch. The gasp turns into a moan as the ice then slides up my balls and to my penis. I can’t help but cringe inward at that, bringing my ass back a little, but not much. She stays with me, continuing up my shaft, pacing herself to compensate for my continued attempts to pull away. At the tip she stops, rubbing the ice over my head as I gasp and pant.

“I could swear you’re enjoying my little ice cube, slut.”

“Yes Mistress,” I reply weakly.

Next she palms the ice cube against my balls and I inhale sharply. Amidst my violent struggles I hear her drink slowly from her glass, her icy grip unmoved.

“Would you like a drink, slut?” she asks, oblivious to my discomfort.

“Yes, Mistress,” I manage to reply amidst more thrashing.

“Enjoy” she says as she takes the ice from my balls and puts it in my mouth, “and don’t you dare drop it.”

Maybe it’s all in my head, but I swear I can taste… something, but I let the ice melt in my mouth before swallowing just the same. In the meantime I hear the familiar click of heels as she walks back to the table and places the glass heavily on the wood. A few steps more in another direction, then nothing.

“I have to say, slut, it is fun to make you squirm. Do you like squirming for me?” Her voice is lower to the ground now. She must have sat on the couch.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I know.” and she lets the statement hang in the air a moment before continuing. “But it doesn’t really get to the point does it?” I hear her stand and walk over to me. She is barefoot now. “I like foreplay as much as the next girl, but sometimes it pays to be a little more direct.” With that she grabs my rock hard penis, rubbing the head then sliding her grip up and down the shaft, using the ice’s water as lube. I moan. Loudly.

“I think you agree.”

She leans into me, and I realize she’s naked now, her breasts pressing against me, her bare legs like silk as she steps into my standing spread eagle. She kisses me deeply, her hand never stopping. I lean into her as she wraps her arm around me to the back of my head, pushing me deeper into the kiss as our bodies grind against each other. She moans and grinds against me and I feel the wet heat of her pussy, but her expert hand ensures I moan more, thrusting into her as I near orgasm.

Her ministrations slow and she breaks our kiss, leaning her head over my shoulder and whispering into my ear as I feel her breath, “What would you do if I let you come?”

“Anything,” I moan, her slow stroking uninterrupted yet just too little to bring me to orgasm.

“What would you do for me if I sucked you off, your Mistress naked, on her knees, your cock sliding slowly in and out of her mouth?” her words barely a whisper, slow and deliberate, each accompanied by a well placed stroke.

“Anything, everything…please,” I beg.

“Show me how you suck a dick, you slut” and she takes a half step back, rubbing a single finger on the head of my penis before putting the finger in my mouth. I suck the dollop of pre-cum down without a thought and go to work, sliding my head back and forth and working my tongue up and down her finger, paying special attention to the underside of her fingertip. Her other hand goes to my shaft and strokes, a less skilled and rougher caress than before, but the difference changes little of its effect on me.

“Oh you dirty little whore, so excited about this.” Her words spur me to suck more furiously. “Maybe I should find you a real cock to suck you filthy slut. Would you like that, a real man’s cock to shove into that little whore mouth of yours?”

She takes her finger out of my mouth and traces it’s wetness down my chest and to my crotch, stroking with her other hand the whole time, even as she raps her warm mouth around my tip. Just a few slow sucks and licks and I explode in her mouth, my moan like a scream, she never losing her gentle pace as I empty myself. I feel myself go limp, hanging by my handcuffs. The metal digging in helps remind me that there is still a world out there, past the cloud of bliss. I feel her hands grab the sides of my head and she kisses me, passing all my cum back into my mouth. I gag both at the taste and at the shear volume of the load.

“Swallow for me you dirty little slut,” she whispers, her hands resting on my cheeks and her face and inch from mine. I take it down in two large gulps.

“Good girl,” she says, releasing me. I continue to hang there, limp, spent, until I feel her brush against me as she reaches up. Once the handcuff is unlocked it slips over the beam to my other, still locked, wrist. I allow myself to fall forward onto all fours, ignoring the awkward spread of my legs, my head down and my hands propping me up. She speaks from above me.

“Mmmmm, on your knees already. You better get used to that, cause this didn’t come cheap. Clean yourself up then come upstairs. Don’t bother bringing the clothes. It’s time to see about that ‘everything’ that you owe me…”



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