The Launching of Slave Georgina

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


The following is my best memory of how I came to meet Mistress and commit myself to her service. The events themselves I distinctly remember as they were important episodes in my life and, as such, stamped upon my memory. However I admit to taking some license with conversation and minor details, as I do not remember them exactly, although the general gist is as was. Mistress has also been kind enough to help me with her own recollections. I have changed the names of all concerned in this recounting, with the exception of my own slave name, to ‘protect the innocent’ as they say.

I hope you enjoy reading of my discovery of myself as much as I myself relished living through, and writing about, these revelations. Thank you in advance for taking the time to do so.

I would also like to thank LunarSirius for his editing assistance.


Whilst studying at university I had a boyfriend who introduced me to light bondage, give and take, but it was most definitely the taking that turned me on. To be helpless and entirely in the hands of another for sexual release was such an aphrodisiac. Blindfolded and never knowing where the next touch would land. Oh God! What a turn on.

Unfortunately, after about 9 months or so, I was becoming jaded with the mild tie and tease games that he enjoyed and I started pushing the boundaries beyond that with which he was comfortable. He got his kicks from me being spread-eagled on the bed while he fucked me, but I wanted more. I have always been outspoken and I can be demanding in relationships so I pressed him to tie me tighter, twist my nipples, spank or whip my arse, etc. When I pressed for the harsher experience I craved, he baulked. He said he felt awkward and uneasy causing me pain but was more than happy to continue with the ropes. I remember that the end came after I tied him to the bed, slapped his arse and tortured his nipples, testicles and penis by way of demonstrating how I would like to be treated. It was a definite turn off for him and he said he could never do similar to me. It wasn’t ‘gentlemanly’!

I had a few more short relationships but scared them all off once I tried to either introduce them to vanilla bondage or persuade them to move on to more serious BDSM. Perhaps I was mixing with people that were just too nice? After I left university I found it difficult to obtain a job associated with my psychology degree other than a social worker, which didn’t appeal to me at all, so after four months or so when my savings had run out, I ended up working as a waitress in a restaurant as a stop gap to make ends meet. I finally plucked up the courage to go to a few fetish nightclubs but unfortunately, being a pretty girl alone at these places and complying with the required erotic or explicit dress codes, I attracted the attentions of a lot of lewd males and creeps and I was quickly put off as it seemed obvious to me that they were all out for themselves and wouldn’t care about the woman they were abusing.

It was in June, 2013, about a year after my graduation, that a male friend invited me out to a pub party to make up a twosome with a group of his friends. I remember one woman was dressed somewhat unusually, especially for a party in a pub. She was with another woman and was wearing a very elegant figure hugging, long sleeved, violet, rubber mini dress, seamed black stockings and black rubber skyscraper thigh boots, whereas the rest of us were dressed pretty casually in everyday party frocks and shoes. She towered over the crowd at 6′ 4″ and this, combined with her singular outfit, immediately made her the centre of attention for party goers and regular patrons alike but she remained indifferent throughout all this focus.

The way this woman stood, with her head held proudly high and her slightly haughty attitude to all the fawning men, just oozed self confidence and a casual detachment to all around her. Although I have a naturally outgoing personality I have always been a little shy and awkward when first meeting people so, despite my yearning to meet this boldly attired, strikingly beautiful woman, I needed several drinks to fuel my ‘Dutch courage’. Finally, after the fuss over her had dissipated, I approached.

“That’s a somewhat exotic outfit for a night out in a pub.” I said. “Do you always dress so unconventionally?” Yeah! I know. It was a pretty poor opening line but the only one I could think of to start the conversation in my bashful, nervous state.

“My dear, you are not the first to ask that.” she replied with a tolerant sigh. “But to assuage your obvious curiosity I can inform you that I dress similarly whenever I attend a nightclub or party, so why would I change my practice for this little soiree?” She looked away from me as if regarding something of interest behind the bar.

Surely such an imperious woman with no qualms or embarrassment about wearing what can only be described as ‘fetish’ gear in public must mean BDSM nightclubs and parties, mustn’t she? And her whole attitude and tayland porno demeanour shouted Dominatrix. Perhaps she was my way to the experiences I craved. I took a mental deep breath and thought to myself, ‘Right! Just do it!’

“Do you attend fetish nightclubs often?” I ventured, cautiously.

She turned and caught me with a look that was at once both contemptuous and curious. “Once or twice a month, my dear.” she responded with an almost puzzled tone. “Why? Are you interested in such places?” Her gaze slowly scanned me from the toes of my black 3″ heeled ankle boots, up my legs, encased in a pair of nude tights, past my white flared floral skirt and pale yellow, loose summery top until it came to rest once more on my eyes. “You don’t look the type,” she sneered.

Despite her obvious scorn, I bravely stuck to my guns. “I have been to a couple of places, some months ago now, but was put off continuing by the lecherous men who think that any single woman at a fetish club is fair game for a grope.”

She looked around the room and spotted a corner table with a lone man sat at it. “Come!” she commanded, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to obey and follow as she strode haughtily towards the unsuspecting male.

Without asking, she sat at the table with her back to one wall and firmly stated, “We’ll have this table now, thank you.” The man looked up from his pint and his thoughts in stunned surprise. “Well! What are you waiting for, young man?”, she said, her voice compelling him to surrender his seat and table. He lowered his eyes from her indifferent stare, mumbled something indiscernible, grabbed his pint and departed for an empty stool at the bar. I took his seat, at her gesture.

She stared at me for a moment and said in an almost soothing voice, “You have an aura of truth about you, young lady, so you can start by telling me your name and continue with your experience of the fetish scene.”

I told her my name and described my ill-fated visits to the fetish clubs. Under her expert questioning and, I believe, sincere interest in my past experiences and feelings, I described my long held desire for submission and bondage and my attempts to satisfy it. We were soon chatting quietly about my fetishes and quickly moved on to how I had come to find ‘normal’ sex somewhat boring and run of the mill. I explained how thrilling it was to be helpless and blindfolded during sex. How boyfriends had disappointed me with their reluctance to push the boundaries of experimentation. How my demonstrations of mild torture on them proved to dissuade them entirely of reciprocation rather than, as I had hoped, entice them into replicating the routines on me. How self bondage and masturbation just didn’t cut it.

“Have you ever had, or considered, sex with another woman?” Her question came out of the blue and caught me totally off guard. No. I never had considered it. I’m not a lesbian! I don’t recall ever being attracted to another woman. I obviously appreciated that many women were, of course, beautiful but I had never got the hots for any of them. Although I have to say that the way I was being treated by this rubber clad beauty certainly made me think again. Was that where I was failing? Was it possible that I could only get the excitement I was after from another woman? Were men just basically incapable of understanding the needs of a woman like me, either too wimpy to take the bull by the horns or too self obsessed to desire anything but their own fulfilment in a BDSM relationship? Could this obvious Dominatrix be coming on to me? Was I falling for her?

“Errr, no. Neither, actually.” I replied hesitantly.

“Hmmm.” She intoned thoughtfully. “You need a proper introduction to all things BDSM. You shall attend me at the club this Saturday and we will see what you’re made of! You will be perfectly safe with me. Nobody will leer at you or lay hands upon you without my express permission. Dress appropriately, arrive at midnight and look for me in one of the anterooms off the main chamber. It’s getting late and I have work tomorrow. I must leave you and your delightfully quaint outfit. Don’t be late!” With that she rose from the table, collected her companion from another table and breezed out of the pub.

‘Perfectly safe’, she said. ‘Without her permission’, she said. Does that mean she intends to protect me from groping lechers but allow me to be used by a select few? It suddenly dawned upon me that she knew almost everything about me and I knew absolutely nothing about her. Not even her name!

I remember that by the following evening I had decided to trust the mysterious rubber clad lady from the night before and put myself in her hands. After all, wasn’t this what I had been waiting for and dreaming of? To submit to another’s will and allow them to do with me as they wished. It’s just that I was expecting it to be a virile, handsome young man who would be controlling my passion, not a beautiful, imperious Dominatrix.

I tecavüz porno spent time Thursday evening sorting out the fetish costume I was going to wear. I chose a long sleeved, black, footless leotard in thick, opaque nylon, but still see through, no undergarments, and an electric blue bustier which slightly narrowed my waist and pushed my small B cup breasts up and together making them appear a little larger. The bustier had integral suspenders to which I attached a pair of similarly thick and opaque scarlet stockings (which were actually the legs cut from a pair of tights). I finished off my ensemble with a pair of scarlet, faux satin wrist gloves and 4″ heeled black stiletto pumps. Not the most colour co-ordinated of outfits, but given my straightened circumstances and inability to splash out on new garments it was the best I could come up with.

Having laid everything out before work on Saturday morning, and having arranged for Sunday off, I left the restaurant about half an hour early and rushed home, quickly showered and donned the outfit I had prepared. I have no idea why, but I was worried that ‘She’ would not approve of my costume, but in reality it was pretty much all I had that could pass as dress code for a fetish club. By the time I was dressed I was already quite hot, but for the bus ride to the venue I felt I should hide everything under a long winter coat. It must have looked quite strange on such a warm July evening and I was definitely hot.

As instructed, I arrived at midnight at what seemed to be a disused church that had been converted for use as a venue. The main entrance led to a normal music and dance nightclub but I was directed to a smaller side entrance when I arrived. At that entrance I had to open my coat to prove to the door staff that I was suitably attired for the venue. They asked for my name, which I duly gave, and I was informed that I was on the guest list and did not need to pay. It seems that my new friend has some influence here. I was directed to the cloak room, where I deposited my coat, and from there I made my way down a spiral stone staircase into a large crypt like chamber. The loud music from the dance venue upstairs filtered into the crypt at a more bearable volume and I made my way across the chamber towards the first anteroom on the left. The main chamber had four cages spaced equally around the centre and numerous padded saw horses, prayer stools and straight backed chairs near the edges. Some of these were already in use with women in various states of dress, and undress, from bodies fully encased in rubber and gas masks right down to naked. All were restrained in various somewhat uncomfortable looking positions and either being pleasured, punished or tortured, mostly the latter two, and all had a small congregation of onlookers.

The three anterooms I saw before I discovered my host contained more elaborate equipment, a cross, a wheel and a rack, none of which were yet in use. I found her in an anteroom that was devoid of any equipment but had a sofa, two armchairs and four straight backed kitchen chairs placed around the walls. As I entered I noticed at once that she was again wearing a rubber outfit, this time consisting of a one piece, black rubber cat-suit with a concealed zip between the shoulders and a crotch zip. She also wore black rubber elbow length gloves and the same pair of 6″ heeled, black rubber boots that reached to mid thigh and gave her that commanding stature. A hood completed the ensemble, also in black rubber, that encompassed her face in an oval from under her chin, past the front of her ears and across her forehead below the hairline. Her long raven hair exited the hood from an opening just behind the crown of her head and flowed down her back in a sinister cascade. She was draped elegantly on the sofa conversing with a man and woman who occupied an armchair each. He was entirely naked and she wore a black leather, halter neck bustier, a pair of tight, black leather hot pants and stiletto heeled black leather knee high boots. It seemed obvious who was in charge in that relationship. There was also a naked girl chained, standing, to the wall beside the sofa.

Upon seeing me she reached into a large leather bag, threw me pairs of leather leg and wrist cuffs fitted with O rings and commanded that I put them on at once. Once they were on I stood patiently and respectfully waiting for her to finish her conversation and turn her attention to me. When at last she did so, she locked them in place with small, but strong, padlocks and used a mountaineers carabiner to hobble my ankles leaving me only 6″ of play for walking. She then turned me around and used another carabiner to shackle my wrists behind my back. A 1″ wide leather collar, also with ‘O’ rings, was locked in place around my neck.

“Am I to remain like this all evening?” I asked in what I thought was a properly respectful manner, but mainly just to try and make conversation.

She immediately tombul porno reached around my body and grabbed both my nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, pinched hard and violently twisted them, causing me to yelp loudly in pain.

“You will speak only when spoken to, slave, and you will refer to me as ‘Mistress’ at all times!” she exclaimed. “And neither do I wish to hear your pathetic utterances of pain.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” I replied demurely. This appeared to be hard core right from the off. Had I unknowingly sold myself into slavery? If I really thought about it, I had been a bit stupid to come here alone to meet a woman I didn’t know anything about. Was I about to spend an evening being raped and tortured by all and sundry? Would I disappear and, if so, would I really be missed? My parents lived in Australia, I had no boyfriend and nobody even knew where I was. Deep down, however, my gut feeling told me that my ‘Hollywood movie’ paranoia was just my nervousness coming to the fore. Even if I had misjudged this woman, which I honestly thought to be unlikely, I phoned my parents once a week, I had an employer who would miss me on Tuesday and, although I had no really close friends since university, I had a few acquaintances that would eventually miss me. I certainly wouldn’t go missing, but I think I might just regret biting off more than I could chew. This all flashed through my mind an a second or so but as I suppressed my moment of irrational panic I did still hold in the back of my mind a fear of being raped.

Mistress, as I must now call her, then introduced me to Maggie, a brown haired girl in her late twenties and one of the slaves that attends to Mistress when she visits a fetish club. Maggie was totally naked with the exception of a pair of ballet style ankle boots locked into place which increased her diminutive 5′ 4″ frame to a statuesque 6′ tall. She was also sporting a pair of nipple clamps from which hung some weights, stretching her not insignificant breasts towards the floor. Her elbows were locked to a bar behind her back but her wrists were shackled in front of her with handcuffs allowing no movement in her arms at all. She was also wearing a collar, again locked in place, from which a chain connected her to a ring in the wall positioned about 6′ 6″ from the ground. This obviously kept her in a standing position and also prevented her from moving more than about a foot from that location. Finally, I noticed the most extreme body jewellery I had thus far seen. Maggie’s vagina lips were pierced with six small gold hoop earrings, three on each side. These were all linked, and locked, by a gold chain and padlock thus sealing her vagina closed preventing any entry but still allowing her to urinate when necessary. It was also still possible to access her clitoris if desired.

I was led to a chair, sat down and ordered to raise my legs in front of me. Mistress took some small lengths of black ribbon and secured each of my shoes to its respective foot by looping the ribbon under each heel, crossing over the arch of my foot and then twice round my ankle before being tied off in a pretty bow at the front. “I see you have chosen an obvious and predictably quaint costume to wear tonight.” Mistress stated with some evident disdain. I knew she wouldn’t like it!

“We don’t want you kicking these off as you struggle during the evening, do we?” Mistress asked rhetorically. Was she really going to cause me so much pain? Or was rape becoming a real possibility? I decided that I would stick it out and go with the flow for the time being. We sat and spoke for a while as Mistress once again interrogated me regarding what I had done before with boyfriends, what my fantasies were, did I feel I had a high pain threshold (scary question), was I easily embarrassed (possibly more scary than the last question.) and how did I feel about sex in public (the scariest!). I immediately recalled some of the tortures I had witnessed as I was looking for Mistress. Was I capable of enduring that sort of treatment? Some, yes, but certainly not the more extreme activities. I answered that my pain threshold had never really been tested, I was innately shy until I became used to a person or situation and that I had never had sex in public but thought it quite inappropriate under most circumstances. I blushed quite strongly as I answered the last question, so it appears that I am quite easily embarrassed.

It was then my turn to speak. Mistress instructed me to tell her everything I expected to find, see and do in a place like this. Looking back now, I think I was a little naïve about it at the time. I expected to see a lot of fetish clothing, people being tied and teased, perhaps some seriously constrictive rope bondage, various items of equipment (racks, crosses, chairs, stools, etc.) and maybe even some exhibitionists having sex, most of which I had already seen in passing as I had crossed the main chamber. What did I think of Maggie? I was surprised to see someone so fully on display, especially the genital ‘jewellery’, and seemingly proud to be so. This made Mistress laugh. Would I be willing to go that far? Or have sex in public here? I sort of dodged the question with a non-committal ‘see how it goes’ answer which prompted another chuckle from Mistress.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir yanıt yazın