Tarquin Confesses

When we met, I had begged her to show me her D/s toys, her dungeon. Looking back, I think she had known all along what I really wanted. When I asked to try out the toys, just for fun, she indulged me with a knowing glance.  I was backed up against the pole, and we laughed and joked about it, and then she asked, quite innocently, if I'd like her to lock me down.  And she looked me straight in the eye when she said it. It caught me off guard. I blushed, and nodded, trying to pretend that I thought it was all a joke.  She smiled at me, but I could tell I was completely transparent to her. She wrapped my hands with leather binders, checking as she tightened them, that I was ok.  It was the way she did it, so feminine, so completely understanding, that let me feel I could let my defences down.  I was starting to tingle, still clothed, just bound at the wrists, her gentle questioning and reassuring opening up an easy path for me the follow.

"Are you sure you're ok?  You want to go on?".  More serious now.

I nodded.

"Then we need to remove your clothes, now."

I was happy to do so.  She lifted the shirt off me, over my arms and head, and unbuckled my belt.  I was embarrased, as she was still fully clothed in her tight, black T-shirt and jeans, and those irresistible heels that I would steal a glance at whenever I could.  She pulled hard and yanked the jeans off me, tossing them aside, and roughly yanked down my pants, casting them away too.

"I'm not touching you until you're fully restrained", she whispered.  I nodded, turning to look as she fetched more restraints, watching the tight clothes wrapped around the contours of her figure.  Returning, she tapped my legs to indicate she wanted me to lie across the bed, face down.

I'd known her years ago, but we were very different then. Our relationship had been passionate, but brief. She wasn't satisfied, and though she reassured me with the usual cliches - "it's not you, it's me", I had always been bothered by the fact that it hadn't worked out, and never understood why.  We had travelled together across India, and we had met together out there, smoking hashish with the other visiting Westerners who'd gone out to "find themselves".  We'd lost contact, and now, nearly ten years later, here we were.

This time, she was keen to show me her lifestyle, and it had some as a pleasant surprise that when we'd met, by coincidence, as a Domme and a sub.  Things made much more sense to both of us now, but she was the one leading, showing the way, and I was the one following.

She fastened me down, wrists and ankles, explaining what she was doing, explaining what she was going to do, softly and gently, but relentlessly.

"Its imperative for me that my boy is gagged when I play" she said, and I nodded as she wrapped the ballgag around me, and buckled it on, the ball pushing deep into my mouth, and now the only way I could communicate was with nods and shakes of the head, and various moans and cries through the restraint. If ever I sounded distressed, she would come around and look me dead on, asking if I wanted to stop, and I would know, as soon as she looked at me, that I wanted to go on and on.  She  covered me in baby oil, every part.  She said that she liked her toys to glisten when she fucked them, that it was pretty and made the feeling more pleasurable.  Though I could hardly resist, I silently agreed.

The final, blissful preparation was a collar.  Though it was only temporary, she said she would not fuck a boy who did not have her collar on. As the leather strap was bound around my neck, and as she pulled on it and checked that it was properly secure, I felt deeply that I belonged to her, and hated the thought of it being removed. Gradually, over the next hour, I yielded to her completely, as she made me hers, and afterwards I could only wonder again and again why it had taken me so long to find what would make me feel so complete.